


Broken Wings and Bandages: 2020 Whumptober Challenge

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BDSM, Body Horror, Butch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Butch/Femme, Comfort, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Disabled Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eye Trauma, Falling In Love, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Gentleness, Historical, Horror, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Meet-Cute, Mouth Sewn Shut, Other, Panic Attacks, Pegging, Recovery, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, So Married, Strap-Ons, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 53,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: 31 stories of hurt/comfort, following the 2020 Whumptober prompts.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 207
Kudos: 174





	1. Shackled

**Author's Note:**

> *Starts singing 'it's the most wonderful time of the year'*
> 
> Hi hello and welcome to my favourite challenge of the year! I'm already running behind (and let's not talk about the Snektember stories I still have to complete...), but hope to catch up and eventually post a story for every day of the month.
> 
> Ratings and tags will be updated as I add chapters and content warnings as well as any useful notes (gender presentation, AU's, etc.) will begin each chapter. In general, you can reckon that anything hurt will be balanced out, at least a bit, with plenty of comfort and tenderness.
> 
> TW for Ch 1: restraints, panic attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is captured and shackled, and does not deal well At All. Lucky he's got an avenging angel...

Crowley howled, and threw himself harder, the shackles catching him. Forearms, ankles, waist. They'd known how strong he could be, and eldritch runes glowed golden, made him scream at the holy light.

“What a pathetic thing you are,” the robed figure taunted him, and Crowley growled from his heap on the ground. Naked and bloody, demonic powers dampened, and _furious_. How dare they shackle _him_? How dare anyone tie him down, he didn't, he couldn't, no, no, no...

He couldn't even fight off the panic attack, the ugliness on top of the disgrace of being held by angelic power. Not an angel; this was far too dramatic for even that lot. Someone would have told him to shut up and die already by now, if it was real angels. But it was someone who knew that holy language, and wanted a pet demon.

Joke was on them, Crowley thought, when he could think again. No good having a demon who was too panicked to do workings. Really it was very, very clever of him to be so terrified of being restrained. Kept him...something. Valuable but not useful. Sort of thing.

“ _Really_ now, can't you get over it?” the figure growled, and Crowley spat at them, and didn't even mind too much when he was laid out with a punch. 

Besides, being unconscious was nice. Until he woke up, anyway, still tied down, still unable to stand or walk or be  _free_ ...

He was screaming and thrashing, wondering if he could rip his own hands off, when Aziraphale came crashing through the ceiling in full angelic garb, and at least he was distracted by the way his skin was burning in his beloved's holy light.  


“The fuck?” the figure said, not very sensibly.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said dryly, and raised his sword and shield. “Oh, my dear. You've made such a mistake. Such a very serious mistake.”

“...why are you dressed like that?” the figure, who maybe was pretty dumb it turned out, asked. Crowley managed to find a corner of his mind that wasn't screaming in panic or pain to be disappointed. If he was going to be nearly killed, why couldn't it be by someone _smart_?

“I _am_ a warrior, you know,” Aziraphale said prissily, and Crowley could have kissed him. Grounding. Aziraphale was _grounding_. You couldn't have a panic attack around him. He was like a cup of tea turned into a person. Well, angel.

“ _You_?”

“Oi,” Crowley rasped. No one made fun of Aziraphale's body, not what he was alive.

“Hush, love,” Aziraphale said tenderly. “I'm rescuing you. Right. You won't do this the easy way, so we'll do it the hard way.”

The figure snorted. “Look, whoever you are, I'll--” And then he couldn't say anything more, because he had vanished with a scream. Crowley didn't like to think where he might have vanished to. Aziraphale had...well, you could call it a sense of humour.

It wasn't, of course. But you could  _call_ it a sense of humour.

“Good heavens, I ought to have done that from the first,” Aziraphale said. “What a useless...useless... _beast_!” he managed, triumphantly finding a terrible epithet.

Crowley laughed weakly. “Oi. Little help here?” He was still quietly screaming in the back of his brain, he was shackled, he was  _captured_ , he wasn't safe, wasn't safe at all, they were holding him they were going to  _hurt_ him, it always hurt so bad...

Crowley gasped, sitting up, the panic attack finally receding. He was free, no chains on him, it was all right. Aziraphale was right there, he could smell him. Always knew what the angel smelled like. Not just his cologne.  _Him_ .

“Shh, love. You're safe.” What angels should be. A comfort. What only one angel, as far as Crowley could tell, _was_.

“Can't believe you like that sort of thing,” Crowley rasped. His throat hurt. Bugger, he must have been screaming again.

“I have _told_ you, I do _not_ like 'that sort of thing',” Aziraphale said, prissy as ever, and his voice only wobbled a tiny bit. Oh, his angel, his love, his sweetheart who was a right old bastard. How his heart was soft for Crowley, Crowley would never know. It was terrible.

“I'll remember that the next time you want me to tie you to the bed,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale lifted him up. He gasped a little – lots of things hurt, pretty bad too. Probably wasn't good.

“That is _completely_ different,” Aziraphale said.

“Really? 'cause you were pretty dressed up the last five times I sprung you from dungeons --” Crowley moaned as Aziraphale stood. His ankle wasn't supposed to feel like that.

“I am always dressed appropriately,” Aziraphale said. “Go to sleep, Crowley. I'll take care of you.”

And Crowley slept.

He woke, who knows how much later, in their bed, in their bedroom, on a warm spring morning. Good, it was the same season. Crowley took an experimental breath, but he felt...fine. Good. His hurts had been healed. The ones on his body, anyway; he noticed the bedclothes were light and loose, and he wasn't wearing pyjamas or anything. Nothing to bind him, in any way, and he was grateful.

“My dear boy.” 

Crowley opened his eyes and smiled. Aziraphale was out of his angelic drag and dressed in comfortable shirtsleeves and trousers. Not even a bowtie – they  _must_ be at home and taking no visitors. “Hullo there.”

Aziraphale's smile softened further, somehow, and he reached out to touch Crowley's cheek, so of course Crowley turned his head and kissed his hand. “I'm fine, before you can ask.”

“I know, I'm the one that healed you,” Aziraphale teased. “Up for a hug?”

“If you're gentle,” Crowley mumbled. He'd be a twitchy wreck for awhile, until he could just...outlive the fear.

“Promise.” Aziraphale moved from the chair he'd put by the bedside and perched on the edge, letting Crowley sit up and go into his arms, holding him loosely. He was warm, and smelled good, and it was surprisingly easy to melt into his arms, head on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered.

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,” Aziraphale said serenely. “Now, my love. You're home and healed in body. Shall I fix us a pot of tea? You can stay in bed if you like, of course.”

Crowley smiled into the cotton of Aziraphale's shirt. “Sloth's a sin. 'Course I'll stay in bed.” It was safe here, and would let his body catch up with reality. Forget the pain of being shackled. Maybe start to heal his mind too, of fear and panic and maybe, maybe soon, Aziraphale would be able to hold him tight, tease him and stop treating him as though he were made of glass.

(He felt made of glass, about to shatter at an instant. He needed to be treated gently, and hated it.  _Aziraphale_ was the one who ought to be coddled and cuddled and treated softly. Not Crowley. 

Lucky that Aziraphale was a soft ball of fluff with a steel core. They both needed that core, just now.)

“As you say, love. I'll be right back.” Aziraphale helped him lay back, and brushed a kiss over his mouth, soft as anything, before he rose and headed for the kitchen, soft and strong all at once as was his way.


	2. (Alt. Prompt # 13) Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out with one of their human friends, Aziraphale takes a tumble and badly hurts her knee. Angelic miracles would be too obvious, so what's there to do, other than try this healing thing the human way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the same universe as [A Little Place in the Country](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709705/chapters/51783610%22). You probably don’t have to read that first – honestly, it’s a behemoth! – but a few things are useful to know:
> 
> \- Aziraphale is female-presenting. Often pretty butch, but she’s more on the femme side in this story. Crowley bounces around between gender presentations, but in this story she’s female-presenting too.
> 
> \- Crowley sometimes has problems with her snake-y hips and back, and uses a range of mobility aides. In this story, she uses a wheelchair.
> 
> \- Aziraphale is very much the guardian of queer people, and she has a whole circle of beloved queer folks of various ages, one of whom plays a big role in this story. They are very much found family.
> 
> TW: hospitals, knee injury

“Honestly, you're the most fussing person I've ever met! I'm just fine!”

Crowley had just let herself into the shop, and winced. First at Aziraphale's words, then at the wave of pain she could feel off of her angel. She was having a pretty bad spate with her hips and back, so it was that she wheeled herself a little faster to find Damien standing over Aziraphale, who was laid out on the sofa, her knee bandaged and a bag of ice draped over it. Her skirt was pulled up scandalously high, and Crowley couldn't find it in herself to be _entirely_ worried, what with angelic thigh to admire.

(Also, Aziraphale would be fine. Crowley would make it be so.)

“Oh good, you're here. Tell him I'm all right!”

“Tell _me_ what happened,” Crowley said, as Damien came over to kiss her cheek, because he was raised properly. With his back turned to Aziraphale, the angel could lay her hand on her own leg and soothe the pain, if not heal it entirely. Going from horribly swollen to perfectly fine was, Crowley had to admit, probably too much to excuse away. 

“Your _wife_ ,” Damien turned around to glare at her, “refuses to go to A&E even though she can barely put weight on her leg.”

“Sounds about right,” Crowley said, wheeling herself closer and kissing Aziraphale. “What did you _do_ , love?”

Aziraphale groaned. “It's nothing, I swear. Just...an accident. A tiny one.”

“We were out for lunch,” Damien said, perching himself on the end of the sofa and stroking Aziraphale's hair. Oh, he loved them so much, dear old friend that he was. “She looked smashing as usual – honestly Crowley, you ought to rent her out to old queens so we can feel elegant again.”

“You're always elegant, my love,” Crowley assured him. “Wait 'til I'm back on my feet, I'll make you feel like the belle of the ball.”

“Why wait?” Damien asked. “We'll draw every eye in the room right now, gorgeous.”

“ _I'm right here_ ,” Aziraphale said.

“Is that in protest for the flirtation or the renting you out?” Crowley asked, making eyes at Damien and very subtly curling her hair a little more. She was _high_ femme today, even had tits and everything, and her wheelchair was a sleek matte black that matched her heels.

“...actually, neither,” Aziraphale had to admit. “We _did_ have a lovely lunch, you darling man.” She sighed, and closed her eyes. “It's these bloody heels. Crowley, I don't know how you walk in them.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley said sympathetically. “Caught on something?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “Slipped. Went down with my usual grace.”

“Hey now,” Damien and Crowley said together, and Crowley touched her cheek.

“Oi,” she said softly. “You had an accident. It doesn't say anything about you, beautiful.”

Aziraphale opened her eyes and smiled softly at them. “I love you both very much. As I said, I went down hard. Not very far away at least, and poor Damien helped me home.”

“Twenty years ago and I would've carried you like a knight in a tale,” Damien promised her. “But we managed, you and me.” He sighed. “Crowley, I _really_ don't like how her knee looks. It's swollen badly, and she can't put any weight on it hardly. I wrapped it up, but I'm not exactly a doctor.”

Crowley chewed her lip. Of course either of them could heal Aziraphale in moments, but it wasn't...the done thing. They were at least pretending to be human – although Damien had politely ignored their lack of ageing, and oh yes the way they could both change their bodies up. One did not grow the tits Aziraphale had overnight. A miraculous healing might be a bit too much.

(They could wipe his memory, but they'd long ago agreed to never do that to their beloveds. It felt...wrong. Disgusting, somehow. A breach of trust.)

“Love,” she said gently. “Even wrapped it doesn't look good. I know you hate it, but will you let Damien take you to A&E? I'll go with you too, if you want.”

Aziraphale must have been doing the same calculations she was. They were going to have to get through this the human way – although with miracles to block the pain far better than any dose of paracetamol would. Aziraphale might be grumpy and uncomfortable, but like hell would she be in  _pain_ . That really wasn't allowed.

“Fine,” she said, defeated. “ _Fine_. You win, although you'll see, it's nothing. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow.”

Crowley smiled at her, and kissed her softly. “I'm sure, angel-love. My good girl. Let's get you up – you can borrow a pair of my crutches.”

Aziraphale sighed loudly, but when she could hardly take a step, even leaning on Damien's arm, admitted Crowley had a point.

They made quite a scene in the local A&E, Crowley reckoned, but it was miraculously over-staffed that day, and London was having a surprisingly accident-free day – unlike Aziraphale, it had to be said – and they were seen to quickly. It was...kind of interesting, she had to admit. To go through things the human way, the slow way. To make Aziraphale giggle and smile, to ease her boredom, and the nervousness of being x-rayed, of waiting in a bed with her pretty leg propped up, her knee still badly swollen. She and Damien were an excellent comedy team, if she said so herself, making the nurses laugh too, charming everyone they met, a kind of honour guard to cover for a slightly miserable, scared Aziraphale. Was this how humans did it? Full of compassion, gentleness, the nurse who complimented Aziraphale's dress and made her blush and preen, and the other nurse who had helped her settle in the bed, the compassion pouring off of her so strongly that even Crowley could feel it. She was matter-of-fact and maybe the most intensely calming person Crowley had ever been around, and she made her angel feel better, smile a little more confidently, and sigh in relief at the ice laid over her knee.

Aziraphale rested against the thin pillows, and watched Crowley and Damien flirt outrageously with each other. They were doing it to make her happy and, the shit of it was, it  _worked_ . She forgot she was in a hospital bed – her! An angel! Who could miraculously heal herself except apparently when she was an awkward old thing who fell right in front of one of their human friends who had the  _gall_ to love her and worry about her! It wasn't to be borne, really.

So she giggled and egged them on and let Damien declare his undying love to her and flirt and admire her body. He could actually do it with style, she had to give him that – Crowley just drooled at her, more or less. Honestly, one might expect better from your actual  _demon_ , but not Crowley.

Damien, on the other hand, was just feeling up her good leg and making her giggle uncontrollably when someone showed up to go over her x-rays and the like.

It wasn't good news. It wasn't  _bad_ news, she hadn't broken anything, but they suspected at least a serious sprain, and perhaps worse damage than that to some ligaments. She would get a heavy bandage and a knee brace to wear for the next week. She was to come back in if she still couldn't put weight on it when that week was up. She was to take it easy, and be careful, plan to need to the brace and crutches for up to a month, even if it wasn't any worse than a sprain. She was to let her friends take care of her, keep her leg elevated and iced, and come back in if the pain got worse.

Aziraphale's face fell further and further. What a stupid creature she was, the only angel in the world who would slip on something and wind up in A&E. 

The only angel who pretended to be human so she could have friends, openly love the world, let herself be truly hurt so they wouldn't be worried or scared of her. Even, perhaps, give them the gift of caring for her as much as she cared for them.

She smiled bravely, and held Damien's hand tight as they wrapped her leg up, the stiff brace...well, already helping, she had to admit. Crowley was right there too, smiling at her, pretty as could be and so gentle. Aziraphale would use her crutches, and that was...something soft and good. Crowley did this all the time, and there was something there, about how human disability was, and how Crowley was way ahead of her on so much.

They made it back to the bookshop, the three of them, Aziraphale slow as she learned to use the crutches, awkward with her leg forced straight. A back bedroom had appeared about the time Crowley first needed to use a wheelchair, and it was surprisingly sunny and big and pleasant, for what probably should have been a box room carved out of the back of a bookshop in the middle of one of the densest neighbourhoods in London.

“I didn't even know you _had_ a garden back here,” Damien said, standing at the huge picture window.

“Oh yes,” Crowley said cheerfully. “We just don't do much with it.” Indeed, it was a riot of colour and overgrown flowers and roses and grass that had become a meadow. There were birds everywhere, and bees hummed as they went about their work, deeply startled to find this corner of paradise here. It would provide a wonderful distraction for someone who, say, had to settle on the long, low window seat and not move around very much while keeping her leg iced and propped up on the handy foam wedge that also happened to be there.

Aziraphale went for the bed, though, deciding that even if she hadn't  _earned_ it – well, she'd earned it. Damien and Crowley did their best to make her comfortable, fuss a little, love a lot, and who couldn't laugh and feel treasured at that?

They did chase Damien home, finally, swearing up, down and sideways that they were fine,  _fine_ , and Crowley got him to promise to take her out to dinner soon so they could wow all of London with their style. There were many kisses, and Aziraphale got a whole, long hug all to herself, before he finally agreed to leave on the condition that they'd agree to let someone check on them every day.

(Of  _course_ their entire circle knew. Of course. Crowley's phone had been going off constantly all afternoon, and there had been pictures and selfies and more pictures to document her journey through the NHS. The x-rays had been a particular hit. So had the shot that was inexplicably just of Crowley's cleavage.)

Aziraphale enjoyed her three minutes without fussing as Crowley saw Damien to the door and oh  _all right_ . It was lovely to be in bed with her darling, Crowley hauling herself in beside Aziraphale easily and the two of them laughing already, hugging and kissing properly, really properly, long and languid and with plenty of tongue.

“What a pickle I'm in,” Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley threw her head back and laughed.

“You done fucked up, angel,” she said, and laughed again at the dirty look she got before hugging Azirpahale harder. “I love you. You promise me it doesn't hurt?”

“I promise,” Aziraphale sighed. “Also I shall be effecting a miraculous recovery a week from today.”

“That's my girl,” Crowley said, and kissed her cheek. “I _am_ sorry, angel. Pickle is right.”

Aziraphale smiled and looked at her leg, bandaged from ankle to hip. “How do they do it? That was frightening.”

“The same way you just did it. By being scared, and having nice nurses to help them, and friends who love them,” Crowley said gently. “And a very hot and sexy wife, I might add.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You forgot modest.”

“So I did!” 

Would Aziraphale ever stop laughing at her demon? Probably not. But right now it felt so good, to be loved and cuddled, to have someone take care of her even though she didn't  _really_ need it. But she did, because she'd got hurt, and had to pretend to be human. Maybe she'd even let her body heal itself, the human way. Out of curiosity. And a month wasn't such a  _very_ long time, not really.

She rested her head on Crowley's shoulder and hugged her. “Thank you for lending me crutches. I like that they're yours.”

“So do I,” Crowley said, and kissed her brow. “Oi. I love you. This was just an accident, angel. Happens all the time.”

“I know, love,” she said softly, and snuggled a little closer. “You okay to stay in London until I'm back on my feet? Otherwise we'll have the children following us back home.”

“Of course. It'll be easier for you to get around under the human's eyes here than in the country,” Crowley agreed. “And it's such a nice time to be here.” She smiled and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. “We'll figure out how to get you to some proms, angel. And a nice dinner now and again, to keep your strength up.”

Aziraphale's smile grew. “Oh, I like that. I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too.” Crowley patted her bandaged leg gently. “Here's to the human way.”

“To the human way,” Aziraphale agreed, snuggling more firmly in Crowley's strong arms. Between the two of them, and their friends, they'd get through this.


	3. manhandled/forced to their knees/held at gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets held up at gunpoint, and inconveniently discorporated.
> 
> Crowley deals with the fallout. The emotional fallout, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-verse, set...ehh...let's say the 90's? Sometime broadly modern, but before the events of the show.
> 
> content warnings: temporary character death, guns

“Really now, there's simply no need for this!” Aziraphale protested, as a very tall man hauled him forward by his collar.

“Shut up,” the man growled.

“I must warn you, you're going to regret this,” Aziraphale said.

“I think you'll find _you'll_ regret it,” his would-be attacker said.

“No,” Aziraphale said politely. “I really think you'll find it's the other way 'round. Ow!” This because the man had forced him down to kneel, and it had _rather_ hurt when his knees hit the pavement. “Oh dear, I hope I haven't torn my trousers,” he said. The witty banter was getting a little thin, though. Where _was_ Crowley? Or if he was...busy...why couldn't this horrible man take a hint and leave Aziraphale be?

Or if Crowley was sick of rescuing Aziraphale. That was always possible to. And all right,  _perhaps_ Aziraphale had been a tiny bit careless now and again. Perhaps he made sure to be beautifully dressed when Crowley had to come rescue him. Even after it wasn't quite so acceptable for men to wear white satin heels and show off their shapely calves, he had  _tried_ . And Crowley had grumbled, but he'd also liked it! The demon had  _bought petrol_ to get silly stickers for the Bentley. He loved rescuing Aziraphale. And Aziraphale had loved the little thrill of adrenaline, the burst of joy when Crowley got there just in time and was strong and brave and quippy.

(They were  _not_ inflicting their kink on others! Well, hardly ever. If no one ever wanted to kidnap Aziraphale, they wouldn't have forced them or anything. It wasn't his fault that he was very, well,  _naturally endowed_ when it came to being threatened by humans.)

“You'll regret it very soon,” Aziraphale said, as he felt the cold of a gun's muzzle at his neck. “Oh, _please_ don't shoot me,” he begged. “It gets so messy.”

“You are one weird motherfucker,” the man said, and pulled the trigger.

Crowley was  _fucked_ . He was so fucked. Aziraphale was never going to forgive him. (Okay in theory, angels were supposed to forgive everyone, but Crowley had met a few angels in his time. Aziraphale was the most bearable of the lot, but even he could carry a grudge like Crowley had never dreamed of. And  _that_ was just because someone else had got the last of the clotted cream before the shops all closed for Christmas, and never mind that he could miracle up a bathtub-ful of the stuff. It wasn't the  _same_ , apparently, a very grumpy angel had informed Crowley over their Christmas Eve brandy.)

He'd been the one who found Aziraphale's body, not two blocks from the bookshop and  _fuck_ . Why had he decided to go back to Hell  _that day_ ? There was no need! There hadn't been a meeting, he hadn't even needed to break the copier! Just a bit bored, figured his best friend could, you know, not get shot in the back of the head for a day, so toddle down to hell and annoy everyone there for a change.

Except. His bloody  _best friend_ . Was just now dealing with a ream of paperwork, to say nothing of the rest of the bullshit Heaven was pulling, just to get a new body. At least he existed broadly outside of time there, and might not miss too much.

(And Crowley wouldn't have to go too long without a charming dinner at some hole in the wall somewhere. Obviously he couldn't go alone, there was zero fun in that.)

He sighed and downed the last of his drink. Aziraphale would be, rightfully, annoyed at him. Maybe Crowley'd be going longer without someone's Nonna patting him on the head and making him take another helping of lasagne while Aziraphale made her fall in love with him, the only being on earth who could eat a whole portion at a little Italian restaurant tucked away in a glorified basement that also, somehow, had the best red wine Crowley had ever tasted. It would serve him right.

Aziraphale was bodiless for a week, in the end. A miserable, dull, boring,  _awful_ week, where Crowley moped around and his plants all developed even lusher foliage. Many of them bloomed, which for one or two was a trick as they were not normally species that created flowers. The Boston fern was particularly proud of itself, if also terrified.

It was rewarded, though, when Aziraphale strolled in one fine Tuesday morning in a brand-new corporation and exclaimed over the beauty of the flowers it had produced. Utterly confused by praise, the fern grew a few roses and let them tumble into Aziraphale's hands.

“Oh, you dear!” He tucked a rose into his buttonhole just as Crowley skidded in, hair an absolute fright and gibbering a bit.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale said warmly. “I hope I wasn't gone long?”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “N-no. Uh. A week? Um. You're. Okay?”

“Of course, dear boy. Right as rain. It turns out that the man who shot me had a conversion on the spot, and now he's one of ours for life.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Honestly, I'd prefer if he'd converted about five minutes earlier, but they hardly argued at all when issuing me with a new corporation, so mustn't grumble.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “I. Oh.”

“Oh, my darling. Did you have to find my body?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded.

“How dreadful,” Aziraphale said and held his arms open and oh. Oh, it was all right. Crowley was forgiven, he really was, he could go into Aziraphale's arms and hug his friend. Fine, all right. His beloved. It was all mixed up with their friendship, no separating the two, no 'more than friends'. There was nothing better than having a best friend. Kissing was nice, mind, but it didn't...make things better. Just more. “Oh, my Crowley.” A soft kiss over his tattoo. “I'm so sorry. Was it awful?”

“Um. Well, not really,” Crowley admitted. “Very clean death. Did it hurt?” he asked, concerned suddenly. “Did he _hurt_ you?”

“No, dear. It was very fast.” Aziraphale wasn't letting go anytime soon. “I'm sorry.”

“Wait, _you're_ sorry? For what?” Crowley squawked. “I'm the one that...Satan, Aziraphale, you should hate me. Or at least be _furious_ at me.”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look. “Why would I do that? You're not making any sense. Oh, let me make a pot of tea and we'll talk it out,” he said practically, and so Crowley was marched to his own kitchen, while his own...Aziraphale...made a pot of tea. (Boyfriend was stupid. He was just  _Aziraphale_ . And besides, he wasn't a boy, not exactly.)

They sat side-by-side at Crowley's very fashionable breakfast bar, the better, apparently, for Aziraphale to rest a hand on his back and rub softly. “Darling, why on earth would I be angry at you? You're the one that had to do all the unpleasant bits.”

“'Cause I wasn't there,” Crowley muttered to his tea. “'m always there. I rescue you. That's how we work. 'cept I was in Hell so you died. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, love. It's not your fault.” Aziraphale actually stood up, gently spinning Crowley to face him and pulled him into his arms. “I shouldn't...you're going to get sick of me, if I keep playing the damsel.”

“Wot! No! Never!” Crowley hugged him back, tight, tight the way Aziraphale liked it. A real hug, rough and full of love, not some icy barely-there embrace that the angels passed off as a hug, on the rare occasions that someone had actually held Aziraphale before Crowley came along. “I will never, ever....I _couldn't_. Is that why you were apologising?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“You listen to me,” Crowley said, not letting go an inch. “I love you. You get in trouble, I rescue you. Whether you're wearing your prettiest outfit or no. That's the deal, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed, a little broken sound, but he also didn't let go. “All right. I believe you.”

“You'd bloody better.” Crowley pulled back just enough to kiss him. “I'm sorry, angel. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again.”

Aziraphale smiled. “If it looks like it's about to, I'll try to stop time. Give you a bit to catch up.”

“Perfect.” Crowley kissed him again. “I love you. Drink your tea. Do you feel all right? Sometimes these new corporations take a bit.”

“I do feel a little...unsteady,” Aziraphale admitted. “Cup of tea's just the thing.”

“And dinner,” Crowley said. “Italian?”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale had retaken his seat, and was beaming at Crowley. “You know just how to spoil me, darling.”

“'Course I do, angel,” Crowley said cheerfully, and pecked his cheek. “Drink up, you'll feel better.”

“I'm sure I will,” Aziraphale said, his eyes soft over the edge of his mug.


	4. buried alive/collapsed building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is nearly buried alive, of *course* while rescuing children. He and Aziraphale then have to decide what to do in the aftermath. And, of course, how they can keep pretending to be man and wife without anyone, least of all their superiors, getting suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roughly canon-verse, historical (set in the 1800's). Female-presenting Aziraphale, male-presenting Crowley.
> 
> content warnings: buried alive, broken bones, child endangerment (they're fine though!), implied character death although we sort of always know it's a ruse.

“You don't understand! My husband is in there!” Aziraphale screamed, shaking off the hands that held her. Crowley, Crowley, stupid _bloody_ noble Crowley! Of course he'd been in there, herding the children out, making sure they were all out and of course he was in there now, under a pile of rubble, under the _wall that had fallen in_. He wasn't alone, but Aziraphale was absolutely sure he was protecting everyone but himself because she'd had to go and fall in love with a _total moron_.

He could be discorporated! And he was surely hurt, and oh, it made  _her_ ache to think of her love in pain, so she screamed bloody murder and threw off the arms that held her and even in about forty pounds of dress and corsets and things, ran for the building and started to clear away the rubble.

The rough bricks tore at her hands, but she worked side-by-side with the rescuers, unflinching and furious, driven by fear that she'd transmuted to rage. She was going to unbury her beautiful demon and then murder him for scaring her so. For making her watch, a babe in arms and a passel of children holding onto her skirts like she had the first idea of what do with a child. Give them sweeties? A bath? Better to pass them off to those who knew what to do with them, like their grateful parents, and fling herself into work.

“There's something here!” A man called, and Aziraphale clambered over the rubble, the horribly-built house that was too crowded, was doomed. _Humans_!

But then they were here, too. Making tea and comforting children who were scared, none of them hurt, thank you God, not a one hurt. 

She hauled a slab of marble away, not caring the way it scraped her hands even more raw; her forearms were bloody from the bricks and bits of this and that which had been torn when the building collapsed.

“An air pocket!” she called, “There might be – someone bring a light!”

Someone did, a weak burning brand, but when he thrust it in, it reflected off of Crowley's dark glasses and Aziraphale could have cried.

“Crowley, love, you in there?” she called bravely.

“There's four children with me,” Crowley said. “The last of them. Get them out quick, one's hurt. I couldn't...isn't bad. I think.”

Oh, this was where she came in, as someone handed her a tiny girl. Her little arm – but that only took a moment when no one was looking, Aziraphale passing her hand over the break and healing it. The child looked up, startled, and Aziraphale smiled at her.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “Our secret, okay?” And let the girl see her halo, and winked at her.

“Oooooh,” the girl whispered. “I won't tell.” She went right into Aziraphale's arms, clinging tightly while she was carried away. Just a little mite of a thing – Crowley would be glad to hear she was all right.

“It's not bad at all,” Aziraphale said gently. “Just a little bump. Must have got confused in the dark.” 

She handed the girl over to her crying mother, and tried not to cry herself, rejoining the men.

(No one would dare try to stop her, not with her strength and the anguish in her eyes.)

They'd got the children out, and were working to free Crowley, clearing bricks and bits of wall and – was that a stone fireplace? – away.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said in a small voice, as they lifted the last bit of debris away, her putting her shoulder to the heavy stone and heaving with two other men. “Oh, husband...”

Crowley's legs were broken, his pelvis twisted and crushed. He coughed and tried to sit up, but Aziraphale was kneeling by him in an instant. “No, no, love. Lie still. You're hurt. We'll get you seen to.”

“Ma'am,” someone said quietly. “Ma'am he's not...going to make it. I seen these injuries before. I'm sorry ma'am.”

“Don't you tell me whether or not he's going to live,” she said briskly. “That's not for you to decide. Two of you, carry him to our house. Gentle, please.”

Crowley howled when they got him onto a door, a kind of makeshift stretcher, but she touched his shoulder and he conveniently passed out.

“Should we send for a doctor?” one of the men asked, once Crowley was settled in the front parlour, still on the filthy door, but resting before the fire. He looked awful, she had to admit. Poor love – he'd do what he could to block the pain, but this was nasty.

“I'll take care of it,” she said quietly. “As you said, he may not...last long enough.”

“He's a hero, ma'am,” the other strecher-carrier said. “Please tell him that from us. If he wakes.”

“You had a little one in there?” Aziraphale asked gently. Oh, poor man, poor humans. Just short lifespans, so much _love_. She was going to protect them with her life and with Crowley's too, if it came to that. They were in agreement on that much.

He nodded, and she took his hands, squeezed them. “Little girl,” he mumbled.

“Go be with her,” Aziraphale ordered gently. “God will take it from here.” Well, a _little_ bit of pandering for her side wouldn't hurt. And it did comfort the humans.

He nodded, and Aziraphale sighed, closing the door after him. Taking a house with Crowley in wedded bliss just on the edge of York was  _not_ how she'd planned to spend 1845. Well, she had to admit it had been perfectly lovely up until now, and she always did enjoy winning the coin-toss to present as a woman. 

She knelt by Crowley's side, her dress miraculously pristine again, and the horrible cuts and scrapes on her hands healed. She touched her dear one's body, closed her eyes, and let the miracles flow. It was serious; if he'd been human she was pretty sure he'd be dead by now. But shh, don't think of that. Mend shattered bones. Heal muscles, coax nerves back into place. Ligaments working together, soothe bleeding organs. Heal, heal love, be free of pain, be my darling husband again, indulgent and handsome. A hero.

She opened her eyes and sat back with a thump, shaking her head. Ooof, that had taken it out of her.

“Zira?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Easy, demon. You were hurt badly, and your body has to catch up with my healing.”

Crowley pushed himself up to sitting carefully, and took off he glasses to better look down at himself. “You  _reattached my waistcoat button_ ? I lost that this morning!”

“Well, there's no excuse not to be tidy,” Aziraphale said primly. “Honestly.”

Crowley lay back down so he could laugh better. “I love you. Angel, I adore you.” He smiled up at her. “Everyone all right?”

“Right as rain.” Aziraphale caressed his cheek. “I adore you too. You frightened me.”

“I had to...”

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I promise, I know. But you still frightened me. I really do love you. Husband.”

Crowley smiled and touched her hand, and the ring he'd put there. They had come up with some excuse or other for their superiors, but it hadn't mattered. They could only pull this off from time to time, but it was just...she  _liked_ being married. To him. Or her, sometimes, depending on who won the coin toss. “Wife. How bad was it?”  
She sighed. “Really bad. You might want to stay abed for a day or two even with my healing, you were pretty mangled.” Aziraphale smiled sadly at him. “We need to make a choice, love. Did you pass away in the night? Or effect a miraculous recovery, where you live but are abed for the next few months?”

Crowley chewed on his lip. “I like it here. But not that much. Would it be very awful to be the grieving widow, moving to a new place and a new life?”

“And a new husband I spring from the hidden compartment of my wagon as soon as we're twenty miles away?” Aziraphale smiled. “I think I could handle that. And my work here is rather done – a miracle happened today. A man rescued children buried in a collapsed house.”

Crowley conceded the point. “I've got the sex workers flourishing myself,” he admitted. “Loads more've joined, due to excellent working conditions. Definitely a point for Hell.”

Aziraphale hid a smile and opted to not quote Scripture. “Yes, dearest. Where to next?”

Crowley lifted himself to lean back on his elbows, lounging thoughtfully and very carefully stretching his legs. “We've not spent much time in Wales, my darling. Perfect place to start over with my wife.”

“Wales it will be, then,” Aziraphale said. “Now lie still, beloved. I've got to go find my widow's blacks.

Oh, it was a sorrow and a shame, that the sweet man died that night of his injuries. His widow was heartbroken, cried at his funeral like you'd never seen before. Closed casket – it must have been horrible. The poor thing, all alone in the world, but so brave. A half dozen men offered to hire her as nanny or governess or cook. A half dozen more offered to marry her, but she gently refused them all, packed up the house she and her husband had taken, and set off one morning. Too many memories, she explained, dabbing at her eyes. Better to start over fresh. She had family. She'd be all right. 

No one had known her, or her man, too well. Kept to themselves. But the children were safe, when surely they wouldn't all have been without his help.

Tiny Bitsy smiled to herself and played with her dollies. She knew no one'd believe she'd been healed by a real, live angel, so she didn't tell anyone. Just like she didn't tell anyone about the box on the lady's wagon big enough to hold a man, maybe one who'd also been healed by an angel. She figured the angel would be just fine. And was maybe not as good an actress as she thought, but that was all right, grownups were easy to fool. And the angel and her husband would be together, wherever they wound up.

(She was right.)


	5. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes a header into a ditch. Crowley hauls her out. They fall in love. That's it, that's the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, honestly, I’m a little surprised it took me this long to write a f/f meet-cute with hurt/comfort and girls on bikes. I’m shocked at myself. 
> 
> This is basically my favourite thing I’ve written...certainly for this challenge, probably for a good long while. Fingers crossed we’ll see these lovely girls again! (Also, a bonus little cameo from one of my OC’s!)
> 
> Human AU, female Crowley and Aziraphale. CW: broken bones, the word ‘fat’ used as a neutral, then negative descriptor. (Then a positive one. Very veeeery positive!)

Aziraphale growled as her bike's front wheel wobbled a little more. She was _going_ to get this! Bloody bike that had spent too long in her shed, bloody roads, bloody _everything!_ The bicycle was big and heavy but also beautiful, and she didn't drive and the bus service in Tadfield was _dreadful_ , and oh yes also her girlfriend had dumped her last night and said horrible things so maybe if she could be a little more active and lose some weight...

Gabrielle still wouldn't want her. But Aziraphale could show  _her!_ She'd watched several YouTube videos and changed the inner tubes and inflated them properly and she was going to get her stupid bike and go someplace fun!

She pedaled faster, huffing and puffing and absolutely sure she looked an enormous tit, but there was no one around to see, so did it really matter? It did not. Besides, except for the sweat and the puffing and everything, she looked a bit cute. Smart, certainly, in skirted leggings and a pretty top with a ditsy flower print and her hair braided back under her helmet. 

Faster, faster, she was really flying now! Take  _that_ Gabrielle!

Crowley slammed on the brakes as she watched the gorgeous woman coming up the road hit a rut and go flying over her handlebars into a ditch. “Jesus Christ!” She just about remembered to put on the hazards and jumped out, running over to peer down. Oh, poor thing; she'd landed in a stream and was covered in green gunk. At least she was conscious, groaning and rolling over.

“You all right?” Crowley called. Maybe she'd had a soft landing?

Oh no. Oh _no_ .

She was  _pretty_ . She was so pretty, curvy and chubby and with an angel's face, her little upturned nose, and no matter that she was soaked and covered in gunk.

“Oh bugger _everything_ ,” she grumbled, and Crowley's heart fell out of her vagina and a good couple hundred feet through the earth, because here were _all of her dreams come true_. A grumpy little angel, tossed into a ditch right in front of her.

Right. Now was not the time to fall in love, now was the time to help the poor thing. “Easy,” she called, and scrambled down. “Easy, easy, you really took a spill there.”

The other woman gave her an uneven smile. “Sorry, who are you?”

“Name's Crowley. I was just rounding that curve when I saw you go flying. Poor thing, you ate it. Are you all right? Should I call 999?”

The angel shook her head and sat up, and groaned again, a pained little sound. “Oh, ow. I think...my wrist hurts. It's nothing though, you don't have to...”

“Right, you,” Crowley said. “Into the car, I'm taking you to A&E. That wrist needs x-raying and I want someone to check you for concussion. Helmet or no.”

“You're being ridiculous,” the woman protested, but she groaned again when Crowley helped her up.

“Probably, I usually am. Oi, you know my name, what's yours?”

“Aziraphale,” she said, as Crowley helped her up out of the ditch. “Oh, my bicycle...”

“Is in better shape than you are,” Crowley said after a quick check. “I know bikes, although good grief, this was sold as a velocipede. You know they make 'em out of aluminium now, they don't have to weight four stone?”

“It's _vintage_ ,” Aziraphale said. “And would one of your aluminium pretties survive heaving a great fat bird into the air?”

Crowley threw her head back and laughed. “All right, point. I've snapped a frame or two in my time. Right, lass, into the car with you, you poor thing. I'll put this on the rack and then it's A&E for you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly, when Crowley slipped in behind the wheel. “I don't...I'm sorry, I'm a mess.” She sniffled. “My girlfriend broke up with me last night and I'm new to Tadfield and I don't know... I'm sorry.” She rubbed the material of her skirt between her fingers, twisting it. _Not unlike how she was twisting Crowley's heart._ It was terrible. Crowley just... _oh_. Oh, she was _stimming_ to comfort herself, this poor gorgeous angel.

Crowley wondered if she liked flowers. Roses? She seemed like a lady who like roses. Great. Grand. Crowley was going to cover her in roses until she smiled and felt safe. Somehow.

“...you can just drop me off at the hospital,” Aziraphale said softly, her fingers manipulating the fabric, the same pattern over and over, the repetition a still point of relief. It would hurt too much to twist her hands, and this calmed something inside her even better, even if was annoying to other people.

“Hey, hey.” Crowley touched her shoulder. “I will not _just drop you off_. I'm worried about you. And I've not got anything on this afternoon.” She smiled. “I'm new to Tadfield too. Let's get you seen to, all right? And then I'll drive you home, so you don't have to worry about that at least.” 

Aziraphale smiled tremulously at her. “You're so very kind. Oh, thank you. You have no idea.”

“Aw, I'm just doing what anyone would do,” Crowley muttered, before putting the car in gear and aiming for the nearest hospital. She _was_ really worried about Aziraphale, and also was not doing a celebratory joyride upon learning that the beauty next to her was both single and dated women.

That would be  _gauche_ . And Crowley was never gauche. Well, hardly ever.

They made record time, as Crowley had intended, and she gently herded Aziraphale into the waiting room, grateful it was a warm day so she wasn't too cold from her dunking. She filled out the necessary forms while Aziraphale cradled her arm to her stomach, soft voice telling her everything that needed to be written down, and they settled back to wait.

Not for long, at least. It was off to x-rays, and then someone who gave her a series of tests to check for concussion, and someone else who wanted to x-ray her neck to be sure nothing had been damaged after she admitted she was a little sore and Crowley attempted to not have a screaming breakdown that Aziraphale's  _neck was hurt_ and she  _had not mentioned this_ . 

Good news and bad; a broken wrist, but no surgery needed. A sore neck, but nothing seriously damaged there, and it was off to yet another room to wait, Aziraphale quiet now while her wrist was set and a nurse wrapped it in a heavy bandage and splint, settled her in a sling, and put a soft collar around her neck.

“Come back in three days and if the swelling's down, we'll give you a hard cast for the next few weeks, then you'll be right as rain,” she said cheerfully, and Aziraphale even managed a weak smile.

“I'll give you a ride then, too,” Crowley said softly. “I, um. My schedule's flexible. Just say the word, okay Aziraphale? The bus service out here is awful.” And nonexistent – Aziraphale would have to ride to about a mile away and walk the rest of it which was _not_ something she looked up to.

“I can't ask you...yes, Crowley.” Aziraphale's smile grew stronger. “Thank you. I owe you a cake. Um, once I'm better.”

Crowley winked at her, and decided to shoot her shot. “You can let me take you out to dinner. Don't even have to wait for your wrist to heal for that.”

The nurse coughed loudly. “I'll just, ah, put you down for 2 pm on Tuesday?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley an odd look. “Of course, thank you.”

“Right,” the nurse said, gave Crowley a _very_ meaningful look, and scampered.

Crowley was going to send her whole floor pizza for a  _week_ . What a mensch. The NHS was truly the pride of Britain.

“Hey,” Crowley said gently. “You don't have to. That's not a condition for giving you a ride home. Or a ride on Tuesday. I mean that, Aziraphale.”

“No, no. I, um, want to.” Aziraphale blushed, eyes downcast. Stupid neck brace, she couldn't even look down properly, or hide, or...well, it wasn't exactly keeping her from curling up and crying, but still. “I just. Are you sure you want to?”

“Really deeply completely and utterly sure,” Crowley said. “ _Believe me_.”

“But why?” Aziraphale asked. “I'm nothing but trouble. And I'm not...you're _beautiful_. I'm not.”

“Who the _fuck_ taught you that?” Crowley demanded, and sighed. “I mean, aside from the entire Western beauty industrial complex?”

Aziraphale had to laugh. “Well. That. Crowley, I'm fat and out of shape and autistic and plain. It's okay. I have, um, a good personality?”

“Oh, my _angel_ ,” Crowley whispered. “Where do I begin? Yes. Yes you're funny and scathing. You have a wonderful personality. I can't wait to get to know you better. You're fat and beautiful. The one doesn't rule out the other. You're so beautiful _like this_ , I'm going to be useless when you're not covered in ditchwater. Um.” Crowley smiled shyly. “And look, I've never been diagnosed but I'm...probably autistic too? Somewhere on the spectrum? I dunno, it's all confusing to me. But I get it. I saw you stimming. It's okay. I really promise you, it's okay.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale's face lit up. “I – then yes. I would love to have dinner with you.” She laughed, leaning back against the bed with a little groan. “Maybe not tonight, I'm afraid.”

“Maybe not for a few days,” Crowley agreed. “You poor thing, you've been through it. Let's get you sprung, okay? I'll take you home and you can get dry and not ditch-water-y, and take some drugs and feel better.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I know I should say something sappy like 'I already do', but frankly my neck hurts and my wrist  _really_ hurts and will you stop by the pharmacy on the way?”

Crowley laughed, and promised she would, gently helping Aziraphale out of bed, through being discharged, and got her settled in the Bentley. 

She meant to just drop her off, really. It would be silly to linger too long; Aziraphale might get sick of her. But, well. It was so easy to go in and help her clean up a little, and get her settled in her bed once she was changed, and then run out and get fish and chips for both of them. And then run out again to get a little overnight bag for herself, so she could sleep on Aziraphale's sofa, just in case she needed something. 

They did,  _technically_ spend a night apart after that. Crowley went home at some point to shower and change clothes and have a meltdown because she'd pulled the best girl in the whole wide world out of a ditch. But she was back the next day to drive Aziraphale back to the hospital where she got a bright pink cast and ditched the neck brace. They changed it up a little by celebrating with a curry and spending the night at Crowley's, where no one slept on anyone's sofa. 

Aziraphale woke up, disoriented for a moment, then the world fell back into place. She was in Crowley's huge bed. She couldn't move her arm because it was in a cast from fingers to elbow. And she rolled over, and right into her brand-new girlfriend's arms, Crowley sleepy and mumbly and too sweet for words. She wrapped her arms gently around Aziraphale and kissed her before she herself was even properly awake, one hand coming up to cradle her neck protectively, the other so nice and tight, holding her very close.

“Sleep okay?” she asked, when she could open her eyes. They were gorgeous eyes, a brown so light and golden they were almost yellow, and Aziraphale thought they were the prettiest she'd ever seen.

“Perfectly,” she said, and kissed Crowley again, and gave a happy little wiggle, which made Crowley laugh with joy, which made Aziraphale wiggle again, and not stop for a little while. It was okay, though. Crowley just held her and egged her on, and covered her face in kisses, and when she was done there, gently curled her fingers around Aziraphale's and kissed her cast, right over where her wrist was broken. Old, old magic, that – kiss something to heal it. Well, it was working.

One Year Later

“Yeah, I'm here with my girlfriend,” Crowley said, leaning over her handlebars as the riders staged. “Just over there, with the vintage Raleigh.”

“Holy shit, what a gorgeous bike,” the girl said, eyes going wide. “Wow.”

“Wow is right,” Crowley agreed. “It's a beaut to work on. Zira! Babydoll, come over here, there's someone else that appreciates antiques!”

“ _Really_ now,” Aziraphale huffed, but she also rode the few meters over, greeting the girl with a smile. “Hullo. Is this your first time here?”

She nodded, smiling shyly. “Yeah. My name's Asha.”

“Aziraphale. And that's Crowley. You'll love it,” she promised. “Group rides are great anyway, but there's a lot of queer energy here that just _makes_ it,” she said, laughing. 

“How, um, fast is it?” Asha asked shyly. “Also, can I look at your gearing?”

“Social pace, and we don't drop anyone, ever,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Crowley and I are riding sweep today. No matter how slow you are, one of us'll always be with you if you need it. And yes, of course!” She hopped off and Crowley held onto Asha's bike so the two women could crouch down, and Aziraphale could show off.

“It's a really sweet old thing,” she said, and looked up, smiling at Crowley like the sun rising. “Funny story, it's actually how we met.”

“Awwww,” Asha said. “Was it at a group ride?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, still with that sunshine smile. “Let me tell you the story, it's quite something...”


	6. no more/'stop, please'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale play Naughty Maestra’s Assistant. Porn with feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castle Terra-verse! I...guess you could read this without context? The basics: Female Aziraphale and Crowley. It’s a roughly fantasy setting. Aziraphale is the castle Librarian, Crowley is a princess. Featuring trans!Crowley, which actually is important to this story.
> 
> cw: consensual rough sex, BDSM, nsfw, explicit, some internalized transphobia

Aziraphale smiled, running her hand down Crowley's arse. “So you _can_ be good for me.”

“I really want to be, Maestra,” Crowley said, and moaned when Aziraphale gave her a little smack. She pushed herself up and twisted around to see her beloved Maestra. “I do!”

“Really? Well, that's a shock to me.” Aziraphale said, shaking her head. “Pet, did I not _just_ tell you to keep stretched over my desk?”

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, lying back down. She was bent at a right angle, above the waist splayed across her Maestra's desk, her hips hard against the front, legs spread so her feet just touched the floor.

Aziraphale sighed. “I didn't want to do this. I don't want to do  _any_ of this, actually. We have to re-file the wool reports, but you're just the naughtiest assistant, and you've got to be punished. Otherwise how will you learn?”

“Yes, Maestra,” Crowley said softly, her cock swelling, pressing hard against the wood of the table. “I'm sorry Maestra.”

“I know you are, pet,” Aziraphale said tenderly, as she stretched Crowley's arms out and tied them to her chair, forcing Crowley to stretch a little more, and of course forcing her to further stillness. Crowley groaned and turned her face to the side, allowed to watch her Maestra. Always allowed that, and good thing too. Aziraphale was naked except for her stockings, her gorgeous body on display, all the dips and dimples and curves of it. The deep scar that gave her tummy an extra fold on one side, her nipples pink and peaked. Her long legs clad in black knitted stocking, tied over her thighs and making Crowley's mouth water. Perhaps she'd be allowed to worship her Maestra's legs later, if she was _incredibly_ good. That was a reward she'd only earned once before, and she was determined to be a good assistant and take her Maestra's cock well, and earn getting those beautiful, strong legs wrapped around her neck while she ate her beloved out.

“I love you very much,” and that was _Aziraphale_ reminding. They were playing roles, and having so much fun with it, but Aziraphale always loved her, and it warmed Crowley to her core, gave her a stupid smile, all that dumb stuff.

“I love you too, Maestra,” Crowley whispered, watching as Aziraphale took the dildo from its box, and slipped it into the harness.

“Do you know why you're being punished, pet?”

“Yes, Maestra. I...I was off in the gardens when you needed me.” Aziraphale started to put on the harness, tightening the leather straps around her thighs, and Crowley bit down on a whimper.

“That's right. You are my assistant, you're supposed to _assist me_. I despair, pet, I really do.” Aziraphale stroked the phallus, now resting over her mons, and Crowley didn't even try to hide the whimper this time.

(It had been a little silly when they'd started this. Aziraphale had been unsure, worried about hurting her, so that first night they'd just cuddled and played with the pretty crystal dildo, Crowley drawing its hard tip over Aziraphale's body and making her sigh and squirm, and letting Aziraphale tease her with it too, not even going near her hole just yet. They'd had the best joke of their lives, comparing hard-ons, as they figured out their way around the harness, laughing and lying on their backs side-by-side, holding each others' cocks, and never mind that Aziraphale's was boughten and Crowley's was home-grown. Somewhere in between the joking and laughing, Crowley had come all over Aziraphale's breasts while she moaned. 

The memory made her jerk her hips and growl a little.)

“I'm...I'm sorry Maestra,” Crowley moaned, trying to cover it a little bit. 

“Do you know the other reason you need to be punished?” Aziraphale asked tenderly.

“Y-yes, Maestra.” Crowley gasped, feeling Aziraphale's fingertips on her back, over her bottom, there, oh _there_ angel. “I said you shouldn't love me. Wasn't worth it.”

The real reason she was being punished. 'Punished.' Seen and loved and beloved. Her body adored and worshipped, Aziraphale flinging her to the farthest reaches of pleasure, tying her down so she couldn't hide and loving her.

“Good pet, that you remember. What else did you say?” 

Unthinking words. About her body. Usually she loved it. Sometimes she didn't.

“That I was ugly. Not really a woman. Just pretended. And pretending ruined lives. Kingdoms.”

A soft kiss on her neck. Aziraphale had actually cried a little, though she'd tried to hide it. “My pet, my beautiful pet. I'm so glad you told me those ugly feelings. I like to remind you that they aren't true. I know you feel them, and I'd never tell you  _not_ to feel. But you must remember that we who love you, all the people around you who love you, don't believe that at all. You're our beloved Crowley, our Princess, and you're a woman. And you make everything better, just by existing.”

Crowley was weeping, shuddering. “Stop, please.”

“You know what to say to make me stop,” Aziraphale reminded her. “That isn't it, pet. So because you're my naughty assistant and I love you dearly, you must be reminded of things. I've tied you down to remind you that you are _mine_.”

Holy  _fuck_ , that was new. The smack on her bottom at the word  _mine_ , and Crowley screamed, short and sharp, and ground her hips against the desk, desperate for something to rub her cock against. She was, she was, she was Aziraphale's pet, her Maestra. She was a woman and she was loved and she was Aziraphale's, forever and ever and ever.

“What a responsive pet!” Aziraphale rewarded her with a kiss, just brushed over her cheek, and slid her hand low again, preparing Crowley. “I'm going to take you, because you're mine, and I like throwing beautiful women down and fucking them blind, so that's what I'm going to do to you, pet.”

“Yes, Maestra,” Crowley rasped, and groaned at the first touch of Aziraphale's fingers _inside her_.

It was nothing to the feel of the dildo when it was time for that, hard, so hard, but her soft angel's thighs against Crowley's when she was done slowly, slowly...

...then not slowly.

Very quickly, actually.

Hard. She fucked Crowley  _hard_ , and Crowley yowled and tugged her arms, the scarves biting into her wrists and oh, oh, she was being turned inside out. Her Maestra wanted to teach her a lesson and she wanted to  _learn_ .

She might possibly have screamed that. That might be why Aziraphale apparently decided to really put her back into it.

“Please, please, please,” Crowley begged, just to beg, she didn't need anything, just her beautiful Maestra, her happy, horny, sexy Aziraphale who loved to top her and played the most wonderful games with Crowley. 

Somehow, she managed to last. Somehow, it was only when she was moaning and rocking and Aziraphale was growling at her to hold on, hold on, longer. You're not allowed to come yet, pet, and she held on, until she couldn't any longer.

Crowley blinked, her cheek against the cool, smooth wood of Aziraphale's great desk. They'd even tidied it for tonight. Well, mostly tidied it. Aziraphale was stroking her hair, her messy, sweaty curls, and singing to her softly. She had a very sweet, low voice, and Crowley closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed deep.

“There you are, my love,” Aziraphale said softly. “There we are. My little assistant. Tell me what you've learned.”

“I'm to stay here and help you,” Crowley said softly. “You're a wonderful Maestra. I never run off because I don't like you – you know that, right? I'm just...flighty.”

“I know, little pet,” Aziraphale said tenderly. “Tell me what else you've learned, while I untie your wrists. And she reached, and Crowley realised that Aziraphale was _still inside of her._

Okay, so sometimes a store-bought phallus had advantages. 

It hurt a little, when the scarves came off her wrists, and Aziraphale made a soft noise, so Crowley managed to find some words. “I learned I'm. Um. Please don't make me say it, Maestra. Please. It's so... _you're_ beautiful.”

“Oh, pet.” Aziraphale rubbed her back. “My pet. I won't make you say it, I know words hurt sometimes for you.”

Crowley started to cry. She  _understood_ . “I love you,” she managed.

“Shhhh, I know. I love you too. May I tell you what I think you learned?” she asked tenderly, and Crowley nodded.

“I think you remembered that you're beautiful. Elegant. That you are precious and loved. That you're a woman, through and through. No matter what people thought when you were a baby and couldn't tell them, you're a woman. My wife. My best girl friend,” Aziraphale said. “You have a gorgeous woman's body, and it's perfect for you.” She was slowly, slowly sliding out, and Crowley sighed to feel it. She felt stretched open enough, thanks. “You are cherished, and you make Terra a better place for being here. You've never ruined anything in your life. That was foolish people, who somehow knew you, and didn't love you. I don't understand,” she admitted freely, pulling her cock free while Crowley groaned. “I don't understand not loving you. But there we are – you're with me and not with them, so I win.”

The sound of her undoing the straps and the dildo set aside to be cleaned later. Crowley somehow got the strength to push herself up and groaned again at the sensation flooding into her hips. She was going to have bruises there.

Good.

“Oh, Jesus, Crowley.” Aziraphale was visibly shocked, looking at her, but her voice was still warm and soothing. “Come on, little pet. Into bed with you so I can wipe you down.”

Crowley smiled at her, and let Aziraphale half-carry her to the little bed, laying her down on clean sheets, a soft pillow under her head. There was already a pot of warm water here, and a cloth, and Aziraphale wiped her down. She was so careful where bruises were already coming up, and where Crowley's wrists were raw.

“Let me see to these,” she murmured, and picked up a little pot of fragrant salve, the woody smell further grounding Crowley, bringing her back to herself. Less pet and Maestra now; more... _them_. Just them.

She smiled sleepily. No leg-worship tonight. Maybe tomorrow. She thought she might be spending a lot of time in bed anyway; an ordinary orgasm could take her hard. One like tonight? Oh, she'd be useless for anything but napping and loving on her angel.

Aziraphale smiled when her wrists and the bruises coming up on her hips were soothed. “Welcome back, beloved. How do you feel?”  
“Good. So good. Warm. Sleepy.” Crowley smiled at her. “Words.”

“Words,” Aziraphale agreed. “Stupid things. I love you very much. I'm so proud of you – you took that so well.”

“Love being fucked hard, me,” Crowley mumbled. “You good?”

“I feel _wonderful_ ,” Aziraphale sighed. “Having a cock is delightful. You're a lucky lady.”

Crowley giggled and held out her arm, somehow. Her body felt numb and sparkly at the same time. She might not be able to make words until she'd slept again.

Aziraphale quickly stripped the rest of the way – just her stockings, it took a moment all told – and crawled into bed beside her, pulling up the duvet. “I'll be right here,” she murmured softly, when Crowley snuggled up to her, head pillowed on her bosom. “All night. All tomorrow. All the rest of your life.”

Crowley just smiled and, soothed and sore and feeling whole, fell into a deep, long sleep.


	7. “I’ve got you”/support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Chapter 2. Aziraphale slowly recovers from her injuries the human way, and meditates a little on accepting help. Also, Crowley gets to play nurse and lives her best life.

“I've got you.”

“Sweetheart, you fuss far too much,” Aziraphale said, but she couldn't deny it was a lot easier to settle on the sofa with Teddy helping her ease down.

“No he doesn't, _I_ fuss too much,” Crowley said, plumping a pillow underneath Aziraphale's knee where it rested on an ottoman. Well, her knee under the bandages and brace and swelling that was taking its sweet time going down. Doing things the human way was not all Aziraphale had hoped. Her tumble, it turned out, really hadn't been nothing, and four days in she couldn't even think of putting weight on her leg.

“You both do,” Aziraphale said, sighing as she slumped back. Teddy had taken her out to lunch, and it had been...all right. They didn't have to go far, and she was getting a little better on the crutches, and navigating with one leg forced straight and still. She even managed to look a little bit cute, thanks to a tartan dress, a _very_ well-engineered brassiere, and a little crinoline.

“I do not. You're poorly, aunty, I'm just helping you get a bit more comfortable,” Teddy said calmly, and he gave her a little squeeze. “There, I'll stop fussing and just cuddle. Fair?”

She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Fair. I'm sorry. You're so very kind to me.”

“Pfft, kind nothing, I got a date with the prettiest lady in Soho out of this,” Teddy teased her, resting his head on her shoulder. “Aziraphale, you do so much for all of us. Let us do for you.”

“You're very silly, but you're also about the fifth person to tell me that this week, so I give up,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley, not to be outdone, neatly pivoted out of her chair to slump on Aziraphale's other side, putting her right in the middle of a cuddle pile. “Fine. You can do for me now by telling me all the uni gossip, my dear.”

Teddy laughed, and did as she asked, giving them a few juicy tidbits, but mostly just – sitting with her. Talking about his life. Letting her find where a little miracle wouldn't go awry, or simply loving him, letting the light of God's own shine on him a little while.

He kissed them both when it was time to go, and made them promise to be good, which made Crowley laugh so hard she almost fell off the sofa, but they did, and Crowley crossed her fingers behind her back and Aziraphale crossed her toes, so that was all right.

Aziraphale turned and smiled at Crowley once he'd left, and kissed her. “Hello you. Let's never do this again.”

Crowley laughed out loud and smooched her cheek. “That's on you, angel.”

“I know, I _know_ ,” she groaned and looked at her leg, touching the edge of the heavy brace. “At least it doesn't hurt. And I'm still healing myself as soon as it's realistic.”

“Mmmhmm.” Crowley touched the brace too, gently fascinated with all the elements, the careful way it all fit together, this thing the humans had made to help them heal. “Do you think you really will be better then? Only three more days.”

“I don't know,” Aziraphale admitted. “Maybe a little bit. I'll keep the brace on a bit longer, don't want to rouse suspicions. Everyone's seen my leg by now, so they know this is, well, a bit serious.”

“And a very yummy leg it is, even all banged up,” Crowley said, biting her earlobe to make her giggle. “Go get comfortable in the bedroom, you always feel better if you move around a bit. I'll make tea.”

“You dear,” Aziraphale said, and hauled herself up again. She settled on her crutches, careful to keep weight off her bad leg, and started her way to the back bedroom.

Crowley watched her go for a moment. She was hurt,  _really_ hurt. But not in pain. And she'd heal, miraculously or naturally; no need to fear lingering problems. No need to worry about surgeries, long recuperations, complications. This was...an experiment. A little trial in being human, with the training wheels on, so to speak. 

It was an interesting experiment, certainly, she thought, as she made tea. It showed peoples' best sides, in a lot of ways. Their inner circle, of course, dropping by regularly to cheer them both and bring food or drink or just a few pleasant hours – enough so that the two of them, who liked their privacy, had gently set times in which they were At Home, and most of the rest of the day, in which they very much were not.

Admittedly, they weren't going out much, but it seemed important to draw together. Crowley couldn't physically support Aziraphale, but she could tease and flirt and make tea and get takeaways, and just...be with her angel.

And it wasn't just their circle – people held doors for Aziraphale, were kind to her, were patient. It was good to see, to remember that people were gentle and good too. 

Crowley was only a little surprised to see Aziraphale in the window seat; it was clearly her new favourite perch, with pillows laid out to cushion her leg and a little end-table to hold the tray of tea, and the tiny patch of wild in their impossible back garden to gaze out at if she ever wanted a break from reading.

“Hi, angel,” she said softly, and touched Aziraphale's good leg. You know, just to check on it. Had to make sure her thigh was in good working order. Best to really reach up there under her crinoline. Crowley was a martyr, just a _martyr_.

Aziraphale turned to face her and smiled. “Hullo, you.” She reached out, and took Crowley's hand (the one not feeling her up), and they stayed like that until their tea was cool enough to drink, just holding hands and being together.

“All _right_ , all right, it's time for your treat,” Aziraphale grumbled, crutching over to the bed, her leg a little awkward in its bareness. She'd bathed, using miracles with frank abandon and declaring that she needed a break from, well, everything. And so she'd taken to a hot bath with a book and a large glass of wine and a box of chocolates, and passed _many_ happy hours, frankly. But it was bedtime now, and that meant everything back on her leg, which meant Crowley and her newly-learned skills.

Crowley, it turned out, was  _fascinated_ by human medicine. In general, and specifically as it was applied to Aziraphale. She'd pored over the photos she'd taken of Aziraphale's x-rays, carefully identifying everything she saw, zooming in and examining the way the joint worked, how the bones met, the ghost-images of Aziraphale's leg. She'd checked everything over twice and confirmed that nothing was broken, and had then found an old anatomy textbook in the bookshop to read up on ligaments and muscles and things.

And, of course, she was allowed to replace the compression bandages and re-do the brace, carefully going through the instructions they'd been provided to click and velcro and tighten and check in the recommended order. Aziraphale could take it or leave it, frankly, but Crowley's clear desire to be a nurse was so  _cute_ . Especially when, as now, she wore the little hat and cape.

“Just relax, angel,” she said warmly. “I'll take care of you. Let's get that leg immobilized and you'll feel so much better.” She was perched on the bed, legs in a tangled sprawl, her own hips and back refusing to be human. It was nice, in a way, Aziraphale thought, that she could bring a little extra human-ness to their lives. This quiet exploration of vulnerability and need was...instructive. And Crowley was awfully good at doctoring, anyway. Probably best she handle it all.

Aziraphale smiled, settling back as her beloved went to careful work. So much comfort, so much support. So many people who helped and loved, over text or in person. She didn't plan on repeating this little experiment again – it had  _hurt_ , and hobbling about wasn't any fun at all – but if she  _had_ to, well. It would be all right.


	8. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning of all things, Crawley is abandoned. Aziraphale helps, even if he doesn’t know it.

Demons were abandoned by God. It was kind of their _thing_. Their brand, if you will, though here at the dawn of the world, 'brands' didn't quite exist as such. Not just yet, although oh boy did Crawley have some ideas for that El-Nasir fellow!

But anyway. Demons were abandoned, cast out, and that meant Crawley. He never  _meant_ to, was the worst part. He hadn't hated God. Maybe he hadn't loved Them either, not in the way They seemed to want to be loved. But he hadn't hated Them, not like Lucifer. It didn't seem fair, to be flung down with the others just for asking  _questions_ . And Lucifer ruled Hell now, and Crawley was just...Crawley.

It hurt, all right? It  _hurt_ , to have a hole where his soul used to be. To not feel God's love. The advantages of never again having to deal with angels was kind of outweighed by the fact that he was turned out of all love and comfort.

Well, angel _s_ . There was one angel Crawley didn't mind so much. Aziraphale was...not different, not  _exactly_ . He was fussy and presumptuous and probably sort of vaguely thought he was better than Crawley. He was also nervous and interesting and...kind. He was kind. 

(He wouldn't have tossed out an angel who asked questions. He would have...well, probably ignored them. But maybe he would have answered them, after a little while. Crawley knew this in his heart, though he hadn't tested it yet.)

Being around Aziraphale was like having a painful wound bandaged. You were still cut open, and it still hurt, but there was a layer of...protection. A layer that muffled things. That maybe would possibly give you a chance to heal instead of sand blowing into your giant wound every ten seconds.

(The humans were discovering doctoring, and Crowley was having fun learning alongside them.

If he had known that it would someday result in him being the keeper of the completely ceremonial First Aid Kit and a far more practical series of healing miracles for every time his husband got so much as a paper cut, he might have been less openly enthusiastic, but there you were. No good deed, etc.)

He still had a gaping wound inside of him. He was still angry, and sad, and frightened. But he also drank wine with an angel and they bitched about their bosses, sat on the bank of the Euphrates and revelling in the thing they had overseen. The spark in the tinder that would become a fire, humans making themselves. Writing stories and falling in love and murdering each other and inventing accountancy. All the wonderful things that had come after Aziraphale had given his sword away to them.

They weren't unobtrusive, exactly; two figures in black and white lounging about really weren't, and especially after they got drunk and argued loudly, but that was what miracles were for. And anyway, the humans seemed to have some kind of inbuilt 'ignore the agents' instinct. Probably for the best.

No one needed to know that God's and Satan's representatives mostly talked bollocks about fish and such. Wouldn't do to have that get out. Wouldn't do for anyone, even the angel, to know that getting drunk and laughing and wondering about fish and the new world and how they were going to figure out copper – it was all a big bandage, to give Crowley a chance to breathe and live and exist and forget, for a little while, that he was abandoned.


	9. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember the Bike Girls AU from day 5 that now resides in our hearts and brains 24-7? THEY’RE BAAAAACK. 
> 
> Set a few weeks after that one, it’s poor Crowley’s turn to be the whumpee. Lucky she’s already set in the cute girlfriend department.

Crowley closed her laptop, set it aside, and prepared to indulge in a really, really good grump.

She was very good at having Moods, and thought she had really quite the best set up for a sulk she'd had in a long time. Best give it her full attention, and anyway she had run out of internet.

Sulky reason the first: she was here in bed, not out at the Farmer's Market with her brand-new girlfriend.

Sulky reason 1.1: this was because she'd split her kneecap open a few days before and was under doctor's orders to stay still as much as possible. And, more terrifyingly, brand-new _very gorgeous_ girlfriend's order to do the same.

It had been so _dumb_. She'd gone with Aziraphale to a fundraiser at the Village Hall where they'd bought WI jam and had tea and fairy cakes and she had met the vicar. Aziraphale, of course, already knew him, although she later admitted she wasn't as good a churchgoer as she'd been raised to be. “I usually make it once or twice a month,” she admitted, blushing. “And Christmas and Easter and all that.”

The vicar had been nice, at least, and of course asked over Aziraphale's wrist. It was healing beautifully, thank you God, and she'd have the cast off in another week or so if all still looked well. They were planning to drive a few villages over and have a nice dinner to celebrate.

(“We really don't have to,” Aziraphale had said, twisting the fabric of her shirt. “I'll still have to wear a brace for a bit, it's not worth a celebration.”

“Can I take you out because I like you, and want to take you to a good restaurant?” Crowley had asked gently, and Aziraphale smiled.

“I suppose that's a good reason.” And there had been a few kisses, Aziraphale a warm, soft presence in her arms.)

They had both drunk their fill of tea and eaten cakes and admired the display of local history before setting back off home, feeling very virtuous and ready for an afternoon of really hearty sex.

So _of course_ , it was raining and Aziraphale was trying to keep her cast dry under the umbrella and trying to keep Crowley dry too, and Crowley was fussing at her and didn't see the dog mess until she went down. She hadn't seen the broken glass either, until she rolled over to sit up and screamed in surprise and sudden pain.

She'd split her knee open to the bone, and it had been awful, Aziraphale white-faced and worried, and back they were at A&E with Crowley's scarf pressed into temporary bandage service.

They'd had to wait ages, and it really hurt, and Aziraphale was so worried, and _they were supposed to be having sex_. Instead Crowley was in a bed with her leg up on a pillow trying to argue Aziraphale into going home and being comfortable, which didn't work and she really didn't want Aziraphale to leave anyway.

The stitches had been awful, the cane they'd given her was ugly, and she wasn't supposed to walk more than absolutely necessary, for fear of splitting her knee open again.

Literally the only upside was that Aziraphale had basically moved in for a few days, to help take care of her. Not that they were apart much anyway; they seemed to flow from Crowley's house to Aziraphale's flat, and only nominally so Crowley could help her out.

(A broken wrist was _limiting_ , she insisted, and Aziraphale had to take it easy too, her body was working really hard!)

Sulky Reason 2: Aziraphale had found her a really snazzy walking-stick at a charity shop, and she wasn't allowed to show it off yet because of doctor's orders and girlfriend's orders.

Sulky Reason 3: Her leg really hurt and she wanted a hug. A big one. With hair-petting. She wanted to hug Aziraphale and make sure she was okay too. She was due for one last round of x-rays, and Crowley was a little nervous, wouldn't really relax until they knew for sure that she didn't have any complications and had healed well.

Sulky Reason 4: Did she mention she wanted a hug.

Crowley was pondering what reason 5 might be when she heard the front door open and close. Aziraphale!

Or a murderer come to put her out of her misery, the way their luck was going. Honestly, Crowley would welcome _them_ with open arms too.

“I'm back, lovely!” Aziraphale called up the stairs, and yes! Hug incoming! “Let me just put the groceries away and I'll be right up. I got us pumpkin-spice lattes!”

Groceries? _Pumpkin spice lattes_? What was Aziraphale doing? How was she _carrying_ all that? Oh her fucking knee!

Some of her questions were answered when Aziraphale came up the stairs, carryout coffee in one of those cardboard containers. She was cute as a button, of course, resplendent in a cozy cabled jumper and a tartan skirt with knee socks and oh gosh Crowley was just sort of... _gone_. Hopelessly gone.

“Hello, you,” Aziraphale said warmly, setting their coffees down and finally leaning in for a hug. She was cool to the touch, bringing in the autumn chill, but she'd warm quickly. She was always wonderfully warm, and Crowley pressed their cheeks together and hugged her a little tighter.

“Oh, my poor girl,” Aziraphale murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, actually,” Crowley mumbled. “'n I missed you.” Why not just flay her heart open anyways.

“Oh, Crowley.” There. There was her hair being stroked. She wore it short, an undercut with a sassy little pompadour on top, and Aziraphale always stroked the shaved bit at the back of her head, and it felt very nice.

“You should ignore me,” Crowley mumbled. “I'll be fine in a few days.”

“My dearest darling. You don't know me very well yet, do you? I don't do what I'm told. Not in cases like this, anyway,” Aziraphale admitted.

“The rest of the time you're a narc?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale laughed and rocked her a little. “I had over a month of being spoilt by you, you silly duck. Turnabout, fair play, all that.” She kissed Crowley softly. “Drink your coffee, and I'll fetch the paracetamol.”

“Oh yeah. Where did you _find_ pumpkin spice lattes?” Crowley asked, finally settling back and cautiously allowing at least some of her sulk to lift. She took a sip of the drink and got beaten over the head by autumn. Gosh.

“Oh, I asked Newt if he'd consider carrying them,” Aziraphale called airily from the bathroom. “I do like how he makes them. What d'you think?”

“I've...never had one before?” Crowley ventured. “It's...good?”

“Enjoy your sugar high.” Aziraphale said coming back and handing her the precious lovely drugs. “And your basic bitch girlfriend.”

“Well, I didn't want to _say_...”

“Please. I was _born_ cottagecore.” Aziraphale smiled at her and climbed onto the other half of the bed, cup in her good hand. “I got us a lovely quiche for tea, dearest, just have to pop it in the oven to reheat.” She reached out, by necessity with her casted hand, and Crowley laced their fingers together. The bright pink was undiminished, if a little grubby, and this was so much nicer than when she'd had to wear a sling, and they couldn't even really hug all the way.

“Thanks,” Crowley said. “Really. Thank you.”

“You can come with me next Saturday. Maybe we'll finally both be in one piece,” Aziraphale teased. “Your stitches might even be out by then.”

“They'd bloody well better be,” Crowley grumbled, and sipped her coffee again. It was really pretty good, although she'd have to think of a way to work off the sugar high. “And you'll have your cast off.”

“Mmmhmm.” Azirpahale squeezed – a little funny-feeling, since she could only move her fingers, but _her_ , and sweet. “Gosh. It could be the first time we have sex when we're both healthy.”

“I, personally, cannot wait,” Crowley said, and grinned. “Wanna practice?” That should take care of the sugar.

Aziraphale giggled, setting her coffee aside and whipping her jumper off. “I thought you'd never ask.”

There was a peek of lacy bra, just at her collar. Crowley took another slug of her latte, set it aside, and went to work. Best to keep in practice, and all.


	10. Blood Loss/Trail of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley stumbles back to the bookshop badly injured. Aziraphale tends to hir in mind and body both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley uses sie/hir pronouns in this story.
> 
> cw: blood, stab wounds

Aziraphale shelved the last book and sighed in a kind of deep comfort. All his new acquisitions, carefully put away in a system of his own devising. It wasn't his fault that no one else remembered the specific system employed by a very small medieval library, which had not survived in any records.

He hummed a little to himself as he poured a glass of wine. He put on a record, a collection of Bach's lute suites. He settled in his chair, feeling wonderfully at peace with the world, surrounded by safety and comforting things.

There was a thump on his front door, followed by a wave of demonic –

Oh. Oh _no_.

Aziraphale was out of the chair and across the floor in no time at all, opening the door to Crowley, oh _Crowley_ , what did you get into this time?

Sie smiled weakly at Aziraphale, and fell into his arms. “S'ry angel,” sie managed, before passing out.

Sie was light as a feather, easily lifted into Aziraphale's arms, and he drew in a breath. What had _happened_ to hir? Stab wounds, mostly shallow but a terrible deep one in hir thigh, the source of all the blood. Sie was leaving a trail.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured, and laid hir down on the ground, feeling an absolute scrub for it. Crowley should be in a soft bed with lots of pillows and quilts, cuddled and warm and safe. But better to work quickly.

Aziraphale drew his hand softly over the horrific wound on hir thigh, healing it in moments with a little sizzling sound and some angelic sparks. Crowley didn't always respond perfectly to angelic healing, but this time seemed to be working okay.

Aziraphale worked quickly, healing what he could until Crowley's body couldn't take it anymore. At least all that was left were shallow cuts on hir arms and one across hir belly – frightening, but not dangerous.

Another miracle, and there was a pile of linen bandages, and Crowley was stripped down to hir skin. Aziraphale checked with gentle hands, glad his demon was still knocked out, and quickly bandaged what wounds were left, careful especially with hir belly – but it wasn't too deep, and also sie didn't have internal organs, not exactly. Not intestines full of things to cause infections, anyway.

Two more miracles. One to put Crowley in soft pyjamas. Black silk,of course, Aziraphale knew what sie liked. Light and soft to the touch, with a little subtle embroidery here and there, just a pretty for hir when sie woke.

The second to put Crowley in their bed. It didn't much matter to either of them that this was in Crowley's flat in Mayfair; London was their patch and their home, and that they technically had two abodes...well, that kind of thing mattered to humans, but not so much to them.

“There we are,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking Crowley's hair. “There you are. Rest, dearest. I'm right here.” He didn't do anything as frivolous as undress, but he _did_ take off his jacket and shoes and stretched out on the other side of the bed, book in hand and spectacles on nose, and prepared to settle in until his Crowley woke.

“You look...nifty.”

The softest iteration of the most familiar voice in his life. Aziraphale was smiling as he set the book aside and turned to see Crowley. Awake, of course, smiling, lying still but with hir head turned to face Aziraphale.

“Thank you, my dearest.” And then, unable to stop – “Oh, _Crowley_. You poor thing. What happened? How are you? Can I get you anything?”

Crowley chuckled softly, then coughed, but not for long. Sie turned over with a groan and held out hir bandaged arms, the two of them twining together, easing into the comfort they'd offered each other for so long.

“Just need this,” Crowley sighed. “Weak. I feel...weak. Tired. S'ry.”

“You have not one thing to be sorry for.” Aziraphale stroked hir hair. Crowley was like a kaleidoscope of hirself, beautiful facets changing and transforming regularly whenever sie was awake. Hir hair was shaved close now, fuzzy and delightful, and sie had small breasts that pressed against Aziraphale's chest. Pajamas had become a nightgown, but still with the embroidery motif Aziraphale had made “I love you. My poor sweetheart. I'll stop chittering at you now and let you rest.”

Crowley smiled and nuzzled Aziraphale's shoulder. “I like your voice.”

“Foolish demon.” Soft, always soft to touch hir. Crowley had been touched cruelly too many times. “I healed as much as I could. What's left shouldn't hurt you too much, and I can finish it off when your body's ready. Your arms and your belly might ache a bit.”

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale kissed the top of hir head. “I love you very much. Shall I recite you poetry?” Sie didn't want to talk about what had happened; well, Aziraphale wouldn't push hir.

Crowley shook hir head. “I want to hear about you,” sie said softly. “I want to hear what you've been doing the past few days. I'll tell you what happened later. But I want to hear nice things for you.”

“Oh, you are a lucky demon then,” Aziraphale said warmly, his voice dropping even deeper, slower and sweeter. Just because he didn't transform himself as much as Crowley – well, when necessity called... 

“I breakfasted yesterday at that delightful little cafe a few streets over, the one that does a proper greasy fry-up. Now, you know I'm not much of a one for sleeping, but I think anyone would need a nap after _that_...”

Aziraphale talked Crowley not to sleep, but to a soft, easy rest, hir eyes open and blinking slowly, drinking in his words. Colour came back into hir cheeks slowly, and sie wiggled deeper into Aziraphale's arms at one point.

And still Aziraphale talked, his voice soft, the bed their little universe just then. Time slowed, and paused, waiting for Crowley to heal and their lives to restart again. In the meantime, though, there were soft linen bandages and silk pyjamas and a velvet waistcoat, and a demon and an angel holding each other, quietly waiting.


	11. Struggling/Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in my Castle Terra AU, just a few days after the end of The Princess and the Librarian. Aziraphale has a rough day, but a friend helps her feel better. And then Crowley is a kind of loving, chaotic whirlwind, it’s great.
> 
> (Chae fans, this one is for you!)

“Oh, for the love of...” Aziraphale had dropped a whole sheaf of papers, trying to get them into her bag. For the _second time that day_.

It was a few days after Christmas and the castle was sleeping off its hangovers. Crowley had run off to irritate various people, being basically free of hangover herself, and very smug about it. And Aziraphale was bound and determined to get  _some_ work done. It was a time of rest, she gathered, but she really was quite brand new to Castle Terra, and she did so want things to work out. So best to take what time she could to make everything right. To show how good she could be, how worthy she was of being a Maestra Librarian.

Especially since thus far, well, no matter  _what_ Crowley had said, she'd mostly been trouble, she thought. Falling off a horse, just before Christmas! At least her work had been done, so that was all right, but she'd already needed the attention of the Maester Physician quite a few times, especially as her ankle proved more seriously sprained than it had seemed. It was awful, and she aimed to show she was worth keeping around.

Aziraphale sighed and shifted her weight, leaning on her crutches and glaring at the scattered papers. Perhaps if she was careful, she could lean over and pick them up, straight into the bag she wore. Then back to her desk where she'd put them in order,  _then_ into her bag, so she could file them properly. She was getting decent at moving around the Library at least, hauling books and papers in her little bag, her arms aching from the work. But she was doing her job, so that was all right.

Aziraphale settled one crutch against a shelf and leaned over, curving her body down, keeping her bad ankle off of the ground – there was no chance it could bear any weight, not just yet, and she wondered again if she'd really only sprained it.

Well, at least she was getting more flexible.  _That_ would pay off dividends, and she remembered Christmas night, Crowley between her legs, oh, it had been  _delicious_ . Still smiling, Aziraphale dropped down a few more inches, reaching for the papers....

Oh,  _fucking hell_ ! Overbalanced, put her foot down without thinking, and landed her full weight on her hurt ankle, the breathtaking shock of pain sending her down to the ground with a thump on her bum, not able to do anything for a moment but cry out in pain.

“Ow, ow, oh ow...” She wrapped her hands around the splint and squeezed, trying to...do something about the pain, and burst into tears. Fucking papers, fucking ankle, fucking ugly bruises on her chest and her face and her body. Fucking ugly body, useless at her job, couldn't even file papers. She sat on the floor and sobbed, sick to death of everything.

And not hearing the door open, and someone come in.

“Maestra – _Aziraphale_ , honey, what happened?”

She looked up, ugly and red and snotty, and burst into tears anew. “Chae...”

“Oh, Aziraphale.” He moved to kneel next to her, avoiding the papers, this gentle man who smelled like horse and hay. “You poor dear. Come here.” He held out his arms and sure, she didn't know him that well, but he was her Crowley's best friend, he was _safe_. He had taken care of her when she was hurt, and visited her, and had happily squired her through Christmas when Crowley had to go off and be a Princess.

She coughed and cried harder once she was in his arms, and he rocked her and rubbed her back and good man that he was, let her cry herself out. It didn't take very long, at least. She was so bloody  _tired_ .

“What happened? Should I call the Maester Physician?” he asked, still concerned.

Aziraphale shook her head. “No, no,  _please_ don't bother him.”

“You're not bothering him,” Chae said gently. “But I won't. What happened, dear heart?”

She smiled at the pet name, and laughed, and cried a little more. Softer now, though, and she could wipe the tears away with her hankie. “Oh, nothing really. I'm just having a day of it. I was trying to get a bit of work done, it being quiet now and all. I suppose I wore myself out a bit, going here and there to shelve books. It's a bit harder than usual, with the crutches and all.” She wiped her eyes again. She oughtn't complain. And she should keep working; it was her own fault she was hurt. “I'm sorry. I'm usually a bit better. Only I dropped a big sheaf of papers and lost my balance and fell on my bad ankle and it just...was a lot.”

“It sounds that way,” he said, all sympathy. “Aziraphale, you know you can take all the time you want to get better.”

She shrugged, and nodded, and looked down. “I know. Just. I'm new, and I want to...be good.”

“I get it,” he said softly, and she looked up, and they smiled at each other. “I really do. I was the same my first year here.”

“But you were with Crowley,” she protested. “Also, you're brilliant.”

“Could say the same about you,” he said, and she blushed. “Look. Crowley thinks you hang the moon but she doesn't get this, not quite. I don't say that to be mean, God knows she knows what it is to be thrown out of a place. But she's here by right of birth. You and me, we _worked_ our way here. So we want to keep working, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“I know it's hard to believe me,” Chae continued. “But it's really all right to take a little time off, to heal. Look, you got a bit done today, right?”

“Yes. I shelved some books that needed it,” Aziraphale said. “Ah, incidentally, did you need something?”

“I can't visit my friend because I want to?” Chae asked, and looked so sad for a moment she all but threw herself at him.

“Oh my God, of course you can! I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't mean – oi! Don't tease me!” she scolded when he laughed at her and hugged back.

“Getting an armful of you isn't discouraging me,” he teased. “Although I did have something for you, actually – got the breeding records for you. But I also wanted to see if you wanted tea.”

Aziraphale smiled, and it came naturally. “With you? Of course. Let me get your records filed--”

“Ah-ah,” he said, holding up a finger. “Conditions for tea. I help you up and settle you by the fire. I put the records and your papers on your desk _and_ you promise you won't work the rest of the day. Then I go to ask for tea to be sent up for us, and fetch you some ice. I won't send for the physician if you promise me you'll ice your ankle and keep it up and stay completely off your feet for the rest of today, as much as you can. Give your arms a break from the crutches, too. Deal?”

She ducked her head and couldn't stop a grin. “Deal. Thank you.”

“Also I'm safe from Crowley's depredations in here,” Chae said. “Kevin _probably_ won't drop her down a well.”

“Honestly, I wouldn't blame him,” Aziraphale admitted. “I'm so sorry to ask, but – can you help me up?”

Chae got her on her feet and sent her firmly over to settle by the fire, foot up on the pillows still stacked on the ottoman. She sat down and settled her crutches on the ground and tried not to moan with relief. She still ached, even if it was better than those first few days, and it felt amazing to simply rest by the fire.

Chae did as he'd promised, and she did as she'd promised, staying quietly by the fire until he returned with an oiled bag of ice for her ankle, and more for when that melted, plus the promise of tea on the way.

“Right, I promise I'm not working, but what kind of breeding _do_ you do here?” Aziraphale asked, feeling much revived. Her ankle still throbbed, but the ice was helping, and she'd have a friend to distract her. And she really _would_ take the day off – not least because she'd pretty well be useless. And Crowley would join her for supper, of course.

“You mean what kind of horseflesh are we trying to cultivate?” Chae asked, and grinned. “Unless you're that curious about the chickens?”

“Chickens are great. Chickens later,” Aziraphale said. “Horses first please, my dear.”

He bowed his head gently, and started to go into detail. “Really, the breeding program proper started about fifty years ago...”

And so Aziraphale spent a truly delightful afternoon, staying firmly planted in her chair and with good strong tea and cakes and a really lovely gab with Chae, only ending because he had to run to meet another friend.

“I'll collar Crowley and send her up?” he asked, and she sighed, and smiled.

“Would you, please? If only to keep her from being dropped down a well.” And she...missed her. She missed Crowley. She wanted a hug and a kiss and a cuddle, and to find out what she'd been up to and tell her about her own afternoon, dull as it was. Silly, but there you were. They were in love, they were allowed to be silly.

Chae winked at her. “Of course. Be well, Aziraphale. And please,  _please_ take care of yourself? You're allowed to rest and heal, I promise. You're allowed a little time to just be.”

She looked down, fingers twisting. “I promise. I  _am_ sorry. It can't be nice to come in and see, ah, a friend crying on the floor.”

“You don't have to apologise for having feelings. Or being over it all. It's hard, being hurt.” He hugged her, and kissed her cheek. “Rest, and let our Crowley spoil you rotten. I'll drop by and say hello again soon?”

“Please? I enjoyed this so very much.” Azirpahale hugged him back tightly. “It'll be a bit before I can even make it out to the yard, I think.”

“Poor lass. I'll give Aster an extra apple from you,” Chae promised, and one more hug, and he took his leave.

Aziraphale drew her shawl around her a little more closely. She wasn't cold as such, though the fire was starting to die down; more that she wanted to hold onto the feeling of being hugged. It had made her feel lovely.

She even dozed a little, and the fire died down to coals before Crowley blew in like a winter wind. There were probably still leaves swirling around her as she went through the great Library door and over to the fireside, the smell of winter air all about her. “Angel! Good God, you're going to turn into a block of ice!”

“I am not,” Aziraphale said, opening her eyes and smiling at her love. “Oh, you look breathtaking.”

Crowley kissed her soundly, her lips cold against Aziraphale's, and kissed her again, a little warmer this time. “You are the  _silliest_ girl. Let me build up the fire for you. And oh, you need more ice, though goodness knows how it  _melted_ , it's  _bitter_ in here.”

Aziraphale smiled, still snuggled in her shawl. “I take it you saw Chae?”

“Mmmhmm. He needs to learn to give more details, I've been having tea with Colin for the last hour.” Crowley was kneeling by the fire, cloak and hood still on, and feeding it with abandon, blowing so it would flame up and begin to give off proper heat. “Thank heavens I got you to put your stocking on before the splint this morning, or you'd not have any toes left.”

Aziraphale laughed and wiggled said toes as her whirlwind girlfriend got her another bag of ice and settled it gently on her ankle. “Get in my lap, wench. You fuss too much.”

“I do not fuss _enough_ ,” Crowley informed her, but did climb into her lap, the two of them cuddled tightly in the easy chair. “Aziraphale, dove, he said you'd had a rough day.”

She smiled and kissed Crowley, glad her lips were warm again. “I did. Poor Chae, nothing was going right for me and he came in in the middle of it, with me sobbing my heart out. Got me back on my feet and gave me a talking-to, some tea and sympathy, and got me taken care of. I feel better, Crowley, really I do.”

“Good.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face in her hands and kissed her, soft, soft, tongue stealing between her lips, the kiss going deeper. “I love you. If you absolutely must work, I'll stay with you and help. You have enough to manage with that ankle of yours.”

“About that.” Aziraphale sighed. “I put weight on my foot, by accident. I think I might've made it worse.”

“Poor love.” Kisses now around her ear. “If it doesn't feel better tomorrow, we're calling the Maestro Physician. And _please_ , love, will you take it easy? Maybe even a day in bed?”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale allowed. “If I feel poorly in the morning.” She had her arms around Crowley's waist, and cuddled her even closer for a moment. “I really ought to spend the night here. But can I spend tomorrow in your bed? Please?”

“I'd like that very much,” Crowley murmured, nosing some loose curls at her temple. “My _beauty_. You poor darling. Really, Aziraphale, is there anything I can do?”

Aziraphale shook her head, and hugged Crowley tight. “You're doing it. Stay with me, hug me, love me. Tell me what you got up to today, darling?”

Crowley laughed and snuggled in Aziraphale's arms, now lit by a bright and merry fire, and began to recount her adventures, bringing the castle courtyard to life, all the things Aziraphale couldn't quite go do just yet – but maybe next Christmastide, when she was unhurt and up for an adventure. Running wild with Crowley sounded just the thing, really.


	12. Broken Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one set in the Castle Terra universe! This is set a few years or so after the latest story in the series. (So maybe 6 or 7 years after the start of the series? ish?) Horses get their revenge on Crowley -- again, and Aziraphale worries about being able to care for her as well as Crowley looks after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: potential serious, life-changing injury for a major character

Darling Asha,

I'm writing as promised, to tell you that we're home, safe and mostly sound. You may notice I say mostly! For we were very nearly home, when poor Crowley broke her arm. Please don't worry too much, for she should heal just fine. She's fast asleep in my bed as I write this, poor darling love, resting as she ought to. Let me tell you what happened.

I say we were nearly home; really, we were _home_! Our journey on from Gaia was quiet and peaceful; I swear we three are wearing that path smoother and easier, and we made wonderful time. We'd got back and were taking the horses into their stalls. You know what a huge beast Bentley is, but he's gentle as can be. A horse you could love.

I don't know precisely what happened, as I was tending to Aster of course, but Crowley was helping the groom with Bentley, and I suppose he was startled by something,and knocked into her. She fell on the ground – well enough, the straw was fresh and soft – but he was still panicked, and must have stepped on her or kicked her, and broke her arm badly.

Poor love, she swears that horses are against her, and I have to admit I'm starting to come round to her side. It wasn't a minor break, and I think not a clean one, but we have such a good Maestro Physician here; he was able to set the bone, and expects that she'll heal up in the end, and keep at least some, if not all, use of her arm. Her hand is just fine, which was her great worry. For WEAVING, you dirty-minded girl!

You mustn't worry over her, love. She'll be fine, and of course I'll be the best nurse I can be. It's not the same arm she broke all those years ago, so she's got the full set now, and can be done with it. (Our joke. A weak one, but it makes her smile.) I'm scared, Asha. She's been so amazing every time I was hurt, or those days when my courses come on and I have to stay in bed, or the bad days with my scar. She's so good to me, and I hope I'm as good to her.

Other news – not much, of course, we only got home yesterday, and it was a bit busy. Stepan and Donald are coming in three weeks to do some research, and I am very looking forward to visiting with them both; I'm not sure I've seen Donald since we graduated. I shall, of course, shake them both down for gossip. Otherwise, Terra is as usual. The sheep are particularly fluffy this year I think; I'll make sure to send you some yarn after their shearing.

I'll ask Crowley if she wants to add anything after she wakes. Whether or no, please know that we both love you with all our hearts, and think of you often. I hope you're well, and blessed with good weather and better health.

We love you forever,

Aziraphale

Aziraphale set her pen down and looked over at her own narrow bed, face softening at the scene there. Crowley still fast asleep under warm quilts, her arm safe in a sling and wrapped tight to her body, no chance of jostling. The kettle was kept warm, ready to make medicinal tea – or regular tea, to lift her spirits. There were biscuits waiting too, if she wanted a little nibble, and Aziraphale had piled her softest, lightest shawls at the foot of the bed, ready to wrap her own dear one up. She'd fetched Crowley's brush and comb and some hair pretties, in case she wanted her long curls combed out and braided back. Again. Crowley's favourite book waited by her bedside too, ready to be read aloud, and of course kisses and cuddles were always on offer. She could _do_ this. She could!

She set her writing desk aside, and pulled out her own knitting. Honestly, sitting in the vast window and working and watching the sky change – there weren't many better ways to spend the day. And although she worried horribly over Crowley, it was good to see her asleep, her face eased of pain. She'd heal with rest and good food and good care, her sweet, silly demoness.

It was a good two hours before Crowley began to stir, after clouds had swept in and the sky turned even more interesting. Aziraphale was so caught up in watching the rain come over the mountains that she didn't even hear Crowley moving around, waking up, until she heard her own name, called so softly.

Good God, she was the worst nurse of all time.

“Love!” She set her knitting aside and rose to kneel by the bed, grinning. “I missed you.”

Crowley gave her a grin back. “I missed you too. I love you. Was I asleep long?”

“Yes, actually. How do you feel, dear girl? Shall I fix you some tea?”

Crowley sighed and stretched a little, and gave a little wriggle. “Best do, I suppose. Let's go sit by the fire? I want to move around some.”

Aziraphale helped her up, and not incidentally into a hug, the two of them snuggling together for a moment before she gave Crowley a little tap on her narrow arse. “Onto the sofa with you, then. I'll be there in a moment.”

She put the kettle on and prepared them cups of tea; medicinal for Crowley, the sharp, lovely smell already refreshing. Comforting; it reminded her of good and growing things, and hope. And it made her think as well of that first winter when she was thrown and hurt, and how Crowley had made her tea and loved her.

“You're smiling,” Crowley said when she came back with their mugs. “You look so beautiful, Aziraphale. What's got you happy?”

“You,” Aziraphale said. “Remembering how you took care of me when I sprained my ankle.”

“Which time?” Crowley asked dryly, and got a little swat to her good arm. “You can't blame me for asking, angel.”

Aziraphale stuck her tongue out, very maturely. “Fine, all the times,” she muttered, and smiled when Crowley cackled. “Oh, drink your bloody tea.” She was still smiling, though.

“Really, what's got you looking like that?” Crowley asked again.

“Really, you,” Aziraphale told her. “The smell of the tea made me think of it. All the times you've had to nurse me. You're so good at it, Crowley. I always felt loved and cared for, even that first time when I was still half-sure I was about to be sacked. You made me feel better.” She ducked her head and smiled sideways up at her love. “I hope I can help you feel better too. I don't know if I'll be as good for you as you are for me. I know you're in so much pain, and we're both worried, but I just want you to be...happy.”

“Oh my God, angel. The things you find to worry about...” Crowley shook her head, drank deep of her tea, and put it aside to gather Aziraphale up with her good arm, snuggling her close. “You silly, wonderful woman. You make me so happy. Knowing you're there, keeping an eye on me. You made me _tea_ , and I fell asleep in your bed, and you now understand that horses hate me.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was laughing. “All right, I might give you that last one.”

“'Course you will, since I'm right.” Crowley kissed her cheek. “I love you so much. Please don't worry?”

Aziraphale gave her an extremely eloquent look.

“Right, might as well ask you not to breathe,” Crowley muttered.

“And if it was me with the broken arm?” Aziraphale asked sweetly. “You wouldn't worry at all, would you?”

“You know, I coulda had a _dumb_ wife,” Crowley grumbled. “'m a Princess, I'm a catch!”

More eloquent looks.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley gave in laughing. “All right, yes, I'd worry over you, Christ. But don't worry about _taking care of me_. You will. You are. I'm as comfortable as I can be right now. You can help with practical things, and don't think I didn't see which book you put out. You're a really loving woman, Aziraphale; I feel loved and wanted and comforted. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay.” Aziraphale rested her head on Crowley's shoulder, after dropping a kiss there. “Good. Because you're so loved, and wanted. I know you hurt, and you will for a little while. Maybe a long while. Just...anything I can do to ease you, I will.”

“I know,” Crowley said, nuzzling Aziraphale's curls for a moment. “I'm going to need you, angel. More than usual.”

“Good thing you'll have me, then,” Aziraphale said. “Through anything.” She touched Crowley's fingertips, slipping her hand into the sling and tracing down to where the bandages started over her knuckles. Soft touches, her poor arm. Well, they'd just have to wait and see how well it healed, and love each other like crazy in the meantime.

At least a little comforted by her plan, Aziraphale finally relaxed by the fire – for the moment.


	13. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So today’s is...a little weird, so I’ll try to explain. I quickly got the idea that I wanted to write something SF, set in a space station, and on the heels of that, Aziraphale would get hurt falling, dared to do something by Crowley, comfort follows, etc. I pretty quickly got a first and last scene and was going to write them, and expand on it later.
> 
> Then I wrote some infodump text and that was already pretty long. I have written...a lot for this challenge, and kind of didn’t need another behemoth? (I’m literally typing this with my hand in a brace cos I’ve been writing so much, so something to kind of...tone it down...was a good thing!) So I figured I’d write a summary of a lot of what I knew would happen, and call it a day.
> 
> So that’s what this fic is, but also this isn’t what this fic is. I really want to take this setting and world and write something where Crowley falls in love with Aziraphale, but it won’t be the fic that’s summarized. First and foremost, because the thought of writing them as teenagers gives me hives. I am sure they are lovely teenagers, but I really, really love their middle-aged energy, and it’s absolutely going to be a story about two middle-aged people finding love and going to bed by 10pm every night and having that delicious ‘don’t give a fuck’ energy of a certain age. Crowley will still be intersex, Aziraphale will still be agender, and beyond that...*shrug*. Maybe the accident in this story will be part of one of their backstories, or what it results in will get split between them; I don’t know. I love writing disability rep, but I’m worried I’m starting to edge into making ‘is disabled’ a given character’s only trait. (Well, that might be a result of Whumptober; I’ll probably feel better about being able to tackle it later.)
> 
> So, yeah! Please enjoy this story, and know that there’ll be something like it someday, but not exactly it :)

From _Bartell's Basic Encyclopedia_ :

_Angel_

A humanoid race, one of the founding members of the  _Sunt Omnes_ collective. Originating from the northern hemisphere of the planet  _Deus_ , they have spread across the galaxy, and have a particular skill in producing innovative new station designs. […] They are all born sexless, but generally settle into one of two sexes, male or female, as they go through puberty. It is not particularly unusual for angels to retain an agender identity. Although this was taboo in the past, social mores have shifted recently to accept it. […] Angels are stereotyped as proud, deeply formal, reserved, and value goodness as the highest virtue. […] Physiologically, their median height is in the 85th percentile for all bipedal humanoids, present a range of skin and hair colours, and low body fat percentage is common and highly valued. They have small wings, mostly in white or grey, that when folded, fall to the waist. Although useless for flight, they aid in balance and movement, and an intricate, highly-skilled form of dance features wing use far beyond what most angels can do.

_Demon_

A humanoid race, and the most recent to join the  _Sunt Omnes_ collective. Originating from the southern hemisphere of the planet  _Deus_ , they have all but abandoned their home planet, preferring to live in ecologies better suited to their biology. […] Demons have three sexes, represented roughly equally among the population: male, female and intersex. Intersex individuals have a wide range of sexual characteristics. Gender identity is fluid and experimentation is encouraged. […] Demons are stereotyped as clever tricksters, deeply artistic, and creative. They value survival at any cost, perhaps as a result of their diasporic history. […] Physiologically, their median height falls in the 80 th percentile for all bipedal humanoids, and present in a range of body types, skin and hair colours. They are also notable for having vestigial scales, usually on their feet and along their spine, but some individuals may have different scale patterns. A few rare individuals are born completely covered in scales. Although they require additional medical care, they generally go on to live full lives. Demons have small wings that, when folded, fall to the thighs or the backs of the knees. When children, they're able to fly short distances, though generally they grow out of this, and use wings only for balance. Wing-grooming is a major aspect of friendships and love relationships, and decoration of their dark wings is an important form of personal expression.

From Ixchel's  _History of Station Lambda_

...following the entry of Demons into the SU collective, tensions between the two races cooled. Aiding in this was a general movement away from Deus to other planets (for a minority of individuals) or space stations.  _Lambda_ was built specifically to house angels and demons, and this historic step was reflected in its design. A vast torus, it encircles a spherical engine that powers the rest of the station, from anti-grav and oxygen recycling down to carefully-controlled weather conditions in recreational and growing regions. A complete closed system, the shape of the torus was chosen for reasons similar to the story of King Arthur's Round Table – in this circular space, no one would be on top. Quarters are mixed, and are easily adapted to the preference of angels or demons. The second generation to be born on Lambda is thriving, with few to no reports of fighting between angels and demons. Intermarriage is rare, but grows more common each year, and cultural exchange is also growing more common. It has been hypothesized that this has contributed to the greater angelic acceptance of agender individuals.

Summary:

Crowley and Aziraphale are about 17, just about done with formal schooling and about to enter an apprenticeship; Crowley to work the gardens on the station, and Aziraphale to the archives. They know each other, and maybe Crowley has a tiny bit of a pash on the pretty angel, and maybe the angel is a little bit drawn to Crowley.

Crowley is intersex and uses the pronouns zie and hir. Aziraphale is femme-presenting, agender, and uses the pronouns she/her. They are both pretty unconcerned with sexuality as a whole.

It's common for teenagers to hang out at the gravity chutes that connect the living-space torus with the power source. The top of the connecting bridge has columns were gravity is weak or nonexistent, and play is possible. However, there are also exhaust fans, so playing there can be dangerous and is officially discouraged.

Crowley is good at doing tricks and playing about in the gravity chutes, and dares Aziraphale to do the same; she's a bit of a goody-goody, and Crowley wants to break that shell.

Aziraphale surprises hir by agreeing, and jumps down, having rather a lot of fun. She tumbles wrong, though, and half-falls out of the chute, plummeting to the ground. To make it worse, there's a discharge of heat, and she's very badly injured – shattered leg, broken arm, serious concussion, extensive burns, especially to one of her wings. Crowley's able to get down safely and rescues her and gets her to medical care.

Zie's not allowed to know exactly how Aziraphale is doing, other than she's in critical condition. Zie checks in regularly – critical, critical, in surgery, critical. Days later, she's downgraded to serious but stable condition, and she's awake, and Crowley can visit.

With arms full of roses, zie goes to visit, and learns more about Aziraphale's condition. They had to amputate her wing, and it's unclear if she'll make a full recovery, but they were able to save her leg and apply skin grafts to her burns. She's out of danger and will live, though, and Crowley just about doesn't have a breakdown right there.

Zie goes in and finds Gabriel, Aziraphale's brother, being nasty to her, and tells him off before he goes off in a huff. Aziraphale is a little bemused (and a lot heavily drugged), but loves the flowers and seems calmer and happier with Crowley there.

A friendship quickly grows between them, just as quickly turning into romance as Aziraphale gets better. They fall in love, and as soon as they're old enough (18), apply to move out and get their own home, together. It's a little hard still – Aziraphale may take years to fully recover, if she ever does, and she's got to finish her last year of schooling while Crowley goes into hir apprenticeship program. But there's good things too, dates and kissing and loving each other, the little victories as Aziraphale's leg heals enough for her to walk, the bigger victories as they both leave households where they're not really wanted, and get to live with someone who loves them. They're handling heavy things – Crowley is guilty that Aziraphale got hurt because of hir dare, Aziraphale is deeply annoyed by this because  _she_ decided to play in the gravity chute, and anyway Crowley saved her life. But they're also cute and in love and dorky and silly. There is a lot of teasing and goofing off, and Aziraphale being a pillow princess.

The final(?) scene is a date in the gardens where Crowley works, a picnic where Aziraphale can settle against an apple tree and eat plenty of goodies and Crowley can treat her and spoil her, the two of them cuddling in a garden. Not perfect, but so happy and so in love.


	14. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a cold night in 1066, an angel and a demon find shelter together, and enjoy the warmth of a fire.

“Well, that will help a bit,” Aziraphale sighed, sitting back on his heels.

“We'll get just as much heat off the cows,” Crowley snorted, and one of their bovine housemates, in the byre on the other side of the wall, mooed. “See, Osgood agrees with me.”

“Oh, is that her name?” Aziraphale asked.

“Uh huh. I said hello to everyone earlier,” Crowley explained, and drew a blanket closer around himself. “Bloody northern weather.”

Aziraphale patted his shoulder. “You poor thing. Do you want my cloak?”

“Naaaah,” Crowley drawled. Aziraphale was shivering too, after all. “It'll warm up in here soon enough.”

Aziraphale looked around the room – not more than a few paces by a few more paces; just enough for a fireplace, a table in one corner, and blankets laid before the fire. And very cold demon also laid before the fire. There were bedrooms up a narrow staircase, but they'd be frigid; better to stay by the fire. And the warmth from the byre.

“Your lot still around?” he asked, and Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, touching his fingertips to his temple.

“Yes,” he said, disgusted. “Bloody hell, so to speak. Sorry. Yours?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said grimly. “I can taste them.” He sighed – no miracles or demonic workings, then. Nothing that might draw the opposing side.

(Or, his traitorous mind said, one's _own_ side.)

Instead they built a fire the way humans did, and huddled by it, the way humans did, and waited for the fire to do its work. They had scattered after the raid and found this abandoned place. Crowley had fed the cattle, poor things were mooing their heads off with hunger, and Aziraphale guessed they could let them out on the morrow, or whenever they left. Let them fend for themselves until someone stumbled across them and made a meal for one of the bands of men still hiding in the fens.

It was maybe slowly warming up. Possibly. They'd found blankets and spread them on the ground, and there was even a narrow bed shoved in a back corner, in case one of them wanted to sleep. Well -- Crowley. Aziraphale had yet to sleep, and didn't fancy a freezing house in the middle of the fens in the middle of a war to start.

“Let me see your leg,” Aziraphale said softly. He still had clean bandages in his satchel.

“I'm hardly going to get gangrene, you know,” Crowley muttered, but he pushed down his stocking and stretched his leg towards the fire, the best light they could muster. There was a deep and ugly scratch there, inflamed and red along the scab that had formed.

Aziraphale grunted. “Would you care to bet on that, my dear?” he asked, and Crowley made a grumbly sort of noise.

“Soon as it's safe I can heal it,” he mumbled.

“Mmm. In the meantime.” Aziraphale reached into his satchel and pulled out a small pot that held something greasy, with a green smell. “This will help with the pain. And perhaps the healing. Since neither of our lots seem interested in budging.”

Crowley heaved a great sigh as Aziraphale put the salve by the fire to let it soften and warm a bit, and went through his store of clean bandages. He knew better than to give more than a token protest, though; Aziraphale had once sat on him to tend a nasty wound. 

(It had been a little bit nice, though Crowley didn't like to think on that  _too_ very much.)

The air was definitely getting warmer, and the cows had settled down with interesting and rather homey cow-noises. The salve was soft now, and Aziraphale smeared it carefully over the nasty wound.

“Ow,” Crowley said, to be contrary, but found himself blissfully ignored as Aziraphale went to work with the clean bandages. Not much to be done about the dirt, but whatever was in the salve was numbing, and again – demonic miracles. Just needed a day or three, preferably without a fever and gangrene.

Without thinking, he smiled at Aziraphale, and was startled to get a smile back.

“Right then, that's you sorted,” Aziraphale said, and patted his leg before rolling his stocking back up over it. “Do you want to sleep, dear boy? The bed looks sturdy enough.”

“Not in the darkest corner in the world,” Crowley admitted. “Might lie down here. Just rest m'eyes and stuff.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “It's getting quite toasty. Well, relatively so.”

“I miss the Romans,” Crowley said as he settled down. Couple hundred years ago and he'd have had a proper bed and underfloor heating and a bath. Instead he had a swamp. And a house he shared with several cows. And an angel. Hadn't had _that_ when the Romans were here.

The blankets weren't soft, but they insulated against the dirt floor. The fire crackled nicely, and the flames were pretty. Crowley's body softened, eased, and he let his eyes drift closed, his body close to warm. Close enough. Easy enough, to fall asleep, in this snug little house, the cold and the war and the horrible outside at bay, and him here in this pool of firelight with his angel...

And so, Crowley slept, a small but definite smile on his lips.


	15. Magical Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale heals Crowley, with miracles. But what does that mean, and what does he think about as he does so?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: descriptions of anatomy (blood, bone, muscle, etc.), major injury to a main character

The thing about healing someone by miracle is, you cannot simply wave your hand and everything jumps back to the way it was. Nor can you just heal the skin or straighten the limb and hope for the best. This creates a pocket where the wound still is, and it will fester and cause trouble. Or the bone may be set, but needs to heal. There is a breathless kind of pain, too, which must be attended to and soothed. The body remembers; you must remind it of a time before sudden agony too.

Oh, his demon, his love, his Crowley. He's being so brave, just making small, frightened, pained sounds. His arm is a horrific mess. Were he human, and you, he would lose the arm and possibly his life. Of course, he will lose neither, but there is work to be done.

A gentle touch; you have that with him, nothing angelic about it. You love him, and so you put your hand on his brow, and he quiets. Help is here. Someone loves him. Someone will look after him. Breathe, darling. Well, only if you like, it will neither help nor hurt. But be easy. I'm here, and I love you, and I will heal your hurt.

No, you can't just wave your hand. Perhaps Jesus could, God could if She had a hand. But you cannot. You wonder if other angels have it easier, if they can just miracle a limb whole or a wound closed or sidestep the agony of birth. You're not sure, and you never asked them.

Honestly, you'd bet that you might be the only angel to have ever healed a human.

(Jesus is different, he wasn't an angel, no matter that you both came from God.)

Right, enough wittering. Start at the centre, start with bone. The thing that survives; that's why God made the early hominid remains mostly teeth. Still find that a little funny. Bone is easy, actually; an inorganic matrix that is coaxed back together. There are some gooshy parts too, but they flow in, easy as can be. Human bones are mathematics, the osteocytes building a scaffold that holds a body, gives everything something to hold onto. You like doing bones; it's very soothing. And you're good at it, don't even leave a callous as there would be if they healed naturally.

This takes a little time, and you are glad time moves differently here; you can take your ease. You must do things right; for anyone, of course, but this is your own love. This arm has held you and cuddled you, has been flung over your hips as Crowley sleeps. You love this arm, and the being attached to it, like you've never loved anything else. You must take care.

There are shards of bone, an ugly break, but soon it's restored, hard and strong. Good, you have a place to tie into. Next are the deepest veins, and the muscles they're embedded in. This is a little harder; you're rebuilding a lot of things, millimetre by millimetre, embedding nerves and oh definitely do not forget ligaments! Wonderfully useful things, tendons and ligaments. You don't like working with them – it always feels like when you accidentally bite down on one in a piece of chicken, and it goes _skrinch_ between your teeth. But his arm wouldn't work without them, so you attach them tenderly, securely. There, now we can hug, and you can pour a glass of wine and talk with your hands and all kinds of lovely things. 

You've stopped the bleeding already, and the impossibly delicate veins and arteries must be renewed, regrown, the paths for blood. At least here they're big and thick, and you can get them done fast.

Fast. You don't stop time, not like he can. But – look. Take a set of twins. (Twins are good; they're always magical.) Put one on Earth, and all her delights. Standing quite still, he will whirl through the cosmos at about 67,000 miles per hour.

Take his twin, and put her on a spaceship. (The twins must always be boy and girl. A simplistic binary, but an old one. Even though you are neither boy nor girl nor man nor woman yourself, you appreciate that this is a dyad that was often easy to make.) A special spaceship; send her into the starry sky, and faster, faster, until she's moving at the speed of light. Bring her home, back to the good green land. Her twin is older than her; he has aged and she has not.

Crowley is on earth, and you are in the spaceship. Sort of. Not at all, actually, but explaining kairos takes longer, and doesn't have a rather sweet story about twins who are and are not twins anymore to go along with it. What is taking you...time, which cannot be measured, is at least going quickly for him, poor love.

You are feeling better, now. Horrific wounds closing. A ruined arm being reborn, the beautiful striations of muscle easing into place. If bones are mathematics, muscles are geometry, the tessellation of lovely long fibres. You love this bicep; it's what gives his hugs a little extra oomph. You weigh more than he does – considerably, actually – but he lifts you up with the force of his hugs and it makes you laugh and hold on. He loves you so much.

There we are – even the tiny blood vessels are coming together, the things that bring warmth to his body. The fascia over the muscle, tough and ghostlike; you always did love fascia. It's a neat little cover over everything. He's going to be fine. You've saved his arm. He's going to be sore, perhaps, the body remembering the trauma, but you can cuddle him. Promise a sling made out of a scarf, perhaps, or simply take him to bed for soft kisses, insist that he rest and lie still while you read to him and stroke his hair. No, lie _still_ you little serpent, your body is learning it is healed, and you must be gentle and easy with yourself.

(To say nothing of – this does take it out of you a bit. You'll both sleep tonight, deep and thick like winter snow.)

Your other favourite part, because it's nearly over. You stitch shreds of skin together, ease it in its layers. Soft and smooth; a little layer of fat, but he's not like you. He's skinny as can be, and you like the contrast. You wouldn't want other than your own comfortable corporation, and you love his. (And it is nice to not have to figure out how the fat lays, you've got to admit. Healing yourself requires an artistic touch. Your hip took a little bit to look its old self again, after that one time, and it did  _not_ help that Crowley fluttered about you, anxious and afraid and loving, and you were hardly allowed to walk more than a step or two by yourself for the better part of a week.)

But there – skin might not be your favourite, but you've done it a lot, and this goes fast. Goes sweet. No scars in  _your_ work, and you slowly swim back to yourself, to your demon smiling at you from where he's still lying on the floor, flexing and touching his arm, now whole and healed. You wonder what he saw and felt, but you can ask another time. It's nicer to help him sit up –  _slow_ , you urge. Don't get lightheaded. Easy. Easy. Oh, I love you too. I love you so much. Yes, come here. Let's just touch, for a long while. Hug me with your two arms, ah, ah, there.

It's magical healing. It's mathematics and anatomy and geometry and art. It's the love that bubbles out of you. It's your favourite miracle, by far.


	16. Forced to beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a little after story 12, Broken Bones. To cheer a convalescent Crowley up, they role-play Queen and concubine. Porn with feelings (and a little light comedy).
> 
> (Set in the Castle Terra universe. Crowley is a trans woman, and they’ve been in a relationship for several years now.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's more...post-whump, but Aziraphale does have a crying orgasm, so that's...close? Honestly, there's no way to look at that prompt and NOT make it porny.
> 
> contains: explicit, nsfw, D/s play, mild restraint play, come play, oral sex

Aziraphale adjusted her dress one more time, and sprinkled some more water on her gown, glad it was a warm and bright day so she'd simply be dressed in a transparent gown, and not a cold, clammy one. This old thing had served her well, and she still wore it often, although usually her titillations were a little more...subtle.

Well, when one was playing the concubine to the queen, subtle simply wouldn't _do_. So she was bare beneath the thin gown, not even drawers on, and the drawstring neckline, instead of riding low on her bosom (or high, if she wanted to retain a bit of modesty), was _below_ it, framing her breasts, round and, she fancied, really rather attractive. She'd painted her nipples with a thin layer of honey which had dried to be a bit sticky, but hopefully a nice treat.

Bolder lipstick than she usually wore, and she borrowed some of Crowley's jewels; deep garnets mostly, a collar tight around her neck and bracelets, and a chain of her own that was just the right size and shape to clip between the bracelets. That was another little surprise.

Aziraphale checked herself in the mirror one last time, tucking a silver curl back behind her ear, and grinned. Showtime!

She locked her wrists together with her own chain, making sure it was set so Crowley could undo it one-handed, and stole into her really smart wife's bedroom. What a fun game!

“You sent for me, my Queen?” she asked in a low, sultry voice, and looked up at Crowley through her soot-darkened eyelashes. “Oh absolutely _not_ ,” she said in the next breath. “Crowley, I refuse to fuck you while you wear your crown, that is _state accoutrements_ , you are so tacky.”

“Awww,” Crowley whined. 

“Don't you aww me, take it off,” Aziraphale said. “It makes me think of stuffy meetings and you yawning and me pinching you to get you to stop yawning.”

Crowley pouted, but did take off her crown and hung it over a bedpost. Which was where it usually lived.

Aziraphale closed her eyes and prayed for patience, then opened them and  _tried_ for 'trained sex worker of the court'. “My queen,” she murmured, and bowed low, letting her breasts hang for a moment. In the dampened gown, backlit by the windows, absolutely nothing was left to the imagination.

Crowley sat up in bed, imperious and handsome, her hair carefully done up in braids (gratis Aziraphale and a lot of gossip and giggling earlier in the day). She wore a simple wrapper, one that was a little oversized and loose enough to get over the splint and bandages holding her broken arm, the white linen of the sling she still needed stark against the dark dressing-gown.

“Oh, you're new,” she said, perking up a little. “Come over here, pet.”

Aziraphale walked to the side of the bed, hips swaying. “Yes, my queen. Anything you ask, my queen.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “You needn't remind me.” She reached out and pinched a nipple, and Aziraphale gave a little gasp. “Oh, good, you're very responsive.”

“The...the other girls said you liked that,” Aziraphale whispered, head tilting back. “I am...sensitive. That's why I was chosen. Only – we _are_ all sorry to hear you'd been hurt, your majesty. I want to make you happy, and forget your pain.”

“Oh, what a sweet pet you are!” Crowley cooed, and pinched harder, making Aziraphale moan. “Oh yes, I like you. Put your foot up on the bed on the other side of my hip – yes, right there, good girl.” Aziraphale's thighs were stretched wide, her dress hiking up over her thigh. Crowley pushed it up the rest of the fabric and ducked to put her mouth over Aziraphale's vulva, licking and suckling, tongue rubbing against her clit already.

Aziraphale threw her head back and yowled in surprise and pleasure, moaning when Crowley just continued to work her over, one hand gripping her bottom to steady her,

“Oh, _yes_ ,” she purred when she came up for air. “You'll do nicely. Keep the dress on for a bit, I like it. You have beautiful breasts.”

“Thank you, my queen,” Aziraphale gasped. She could move her wrists enough to cup one in one hand, pushing it up a little. “Would you like to taste them?”

“I think in a bit. I like the taste of your cunny best right now,” Crowley said, licking her lips. “You're just sweet as pie, aren't you?”

Aziraphale blushed. “I try to be, my Queen. Is there anything I may do to ease you?”

“Come lie beside me,” Crowley said, patting the bed. “You must forgive me – I only recently had my medicine, and I'm still waiting for it to soothe the pain of my arm.”

“Oh, my Queen,” Aziraphale said softly. This was true, her poor love. Crowley's recovery was going...not badly, but rockily. She was still in so much pain, even two weeks on. 

Aziraphale lay down on her side, sharing the Queen's pillow, and traced a fingertip down the deep vee of her dressing-gown, her other hand travelling close of course. “I can lie quietly as long as you need me to.”

Crowley smiled at her. “What a good girl. I'm so lucky. Are you new?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I have only just completed my training.” She blushed. “You'll be my first, my Queen.”

Crowley gave her a look for the ages, and Aziraphale just blinked innocently and what she imagined to be virginally. It had  _been_ awhile, all right!

“Surely you've touched yourself,” Crowley asked, when she had swallowed a few times.

“Oh, yes, of course! But it's not quite the same, is it?” Aziraphale cooed. “Your tongue is so different from my fingers. So much sweeter. Do I taste good?” She slipped a few fingers between her legs, and licked them, closing her eyes in pleasure at the earthy tang. “Ooooh.”

“Yes,” Crowley croaked. “You taste so good. But you mustn't do that unless I say you may.”

“Oh! I am sorry, my Queen.” Aziraphale grinned, clearly not sorry at all.

“I'm sure you are,” Crowley said dryly. She lifted her good arm and pulled Aziraphale a little closer. “Let me see the chains that hold you, little pet,” she said, and Aziraphale held her wrists up, not more than six inches apart.

“Oh, that's very nice,” Crowley approved, and kissed her forehead. “I'm going to have ever so much fun with you.”

Aziraphale smiled as sweetly as she could. “I can't wait. I'm all wet for you,” she murmured. “Could you taste it?”

“Of course. Kiss me, please,” Crowley commanded, and she didn't have to ask twice. Aziraphale held herself carefully, leaning on her elbow rather than on Crowley, but put her heart into the kiss. _We're playing but we're us under it. I love you. You're my dearest friend. I want to make you feel good. I love you, I love you, I love you_.

Crowley was gasping for breath when the kiss ended, and Aziraphale was heavy-lidded and breathing deeply. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, my Queen, you are...”

“Kiss me again,” Crowley ordered, and if it was a little less intense, it lasted longer and ended with Crowley gently flipping them over so Aziraphale landed on her back, legs spread, giving a little cry when Crowley drew back. Her bosom was heaving now, gasping, and she squirmed on the bed. “Please, my Queen,” she moaned, raising her knees so the diaphanous gown tumbled between her legs. 

“Not yet,” Crowley purred, sitting up and raising the chain that linked Aziraphale's bracelets. “Hmm. I'm deciding if I like this.”

“You don't, my Queen?” Aziraphale asked softly. “Only I picked it out – I thought we might have fun with it.”

Crowley smiled. “You are a thoughtful one, little pet. But I want all my girls here by choice, and by love – not because you're chained.”

“I want you,” Aziraphale said immediately, voice low. “I want you, I want to be here. I want to be in your court for the rest of my days. I am...cherished, here, as I never have been before.”

Crowley's mouth did a thing, and her eyes darkened a moment, and Aziraphale felt badly. They were supposed to be having fun and teasing each other, and she'd made it too serious.

“You are _so_ cherished,” Crowley finally said. “You are wanted and adored. You slightest whim will always be answered. You will have friends and lovers all around you, all the time, here at _my_ court.”

Aziraphale smiled at her, trembling just a little. “And you, my Queen?” she asked. She gently pulled her hands away, and cupped her breasts, then trickled her fingertips down between her legs, dipping into the wet there. “What of you?”

“You will be my favourite, I can tell,” Crowley told her, and leaned over, holding herself up on her good arm, to kiss Aziraphale very, very thoroughly.

“Oh, my Queen,” Aziraphale gasped, eyes still closed and licking her lips. “I... _oh_.” She shuddered a little. “Oh, but why am I lying here, when you're the poorly one!” She looked up at Crowley and gave her a _very fierce look_. “My Queen, you ought to lie down and be comfortable. Does your arm hurt very much?”

Crowley smiled, but did as she was ordered to by her little pet, deciding to indulge. “Less so, now that you're with me. Would you be my pet for true? If I gave you a little collar, and put a chain on it, and you stayed by my side all the time?”

“I would like nothing better,” Aziraphale murmured, and sat up, drawing back part of Crowley's dressing gown until one of her breasts was exposed, and she could bend down and suckle at her small, peaked nipple. 

Crowley gave a little shudder and sighed, slipping her hand under Aziraphale's dress and sliding it across her vulva, lazy and easy while Aziraphale kissed her way across her chest until the tight sling stopped her.

“Sorry,” Crowley murmured, and was rewarded with a blinding smile and a little moan. She'd found Aziraphale's clit.

“Shhh-oh!” Aziraphale leaned into her touch. “Don't apologize for being hurt, my Queen. It'll b-be a treat for me when you're better. When I help you get better.”

“Sweet angel pet,” Crowley murmured, finger moving faster. “Does that feel good?”

Aziraphale moaned and nodded, holding herself up with one hand, the other cupping her breasts. “S-so good, my Queen,” she gasped, and cried out when Crowley changed her angle. “Oh, I'm going...I'm going to...ahhhh!”

Normally pretty vocal, Aziraphale was unafraid to play up her orgasm, the sweet shuddering and the moaning, her little collapse carefully to Crowley's side, crying out softly as she came to rest, cuddled up to her, mouth already on her breast.

“My pet,” Crowley said smugly. “How was your first orgasm from someone else, then?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh, it was wonderful. You're so good to me.” She kissed Crowley's breast, then over her heart. “I want to suck your cock. Please?”

“Not just yet, I think,” Crowley said, when she could make words again. “You pretty thing. I love that gown, but I think I'd rather see you naked.” She smiled sweet and slow. “Let me undo your chains for a moment, then.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Aziraphale whispered, and held up her hands while Crowley quickly unhooked the simple chain, and Aziraphale even more quickly got out of her dress. She knelt, twisting deliciously, and showed off for Crowley in the soft spring light. 

Silver-gold curls cascaded down her back, and she was all pink and white and big eyes. She touched her lips and sighed, and gazed at Crowley through her eyelashes. “Does my body please you, my Queen?”

“You have no idea,” Crowley breathed, reaching out now to first touch a nipple, then one of the folds of Aziraphale's tummy, then her hip, the soft dimples there. “Oh, pet, you are so beautiful.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Good. I want to be lovely for you.”

“I'm never letting you put on clothes again,” Crowley said, and sort of meant it. She might relent in winter, but that was _months_ away yet. “Pet, I adore you. Let me see your wrists, please?”

Aziraphale grinned and held them out readily, her eager concubine in this as in all things. Crowley fastened her wrists together again, and checked that the bracelets weren't too tight, that they didn't bite into her flesh. And, reaching up, she hooked the chain over a hook high on the wall, forcing Aziraphale to kneel astride her, up on her knees and with arms outstretched, unable to touch.

“Oh, my Queen!” She moaned and spread her knees a little wider. “But I wanted to kiss you, and watch your cock get hard and know it was _me_!”

Crowley gave her a little smack on the thigh, hardly more than a touch, really. “Pardon me, who here is the Queen and who the concubine?”

“I'm here only to serve you,” Aziraphale gasped. “To make love to you and pleasure you and give my body to you in every way that you want. But oh, my Queen!”

Crowley smiled and rubbed her hip, soothing where she hadn't even really hurt. “My sweet little pet. In time.” And she slid down the bed, and guided Aziraphale down and forward so her cunny rested over Crowley's mouth, and she could eat out her little concubine to her heart's content. Which she did.

It was ideal, really. Crowley got to fill her senses with Aziraphale, lap at her wet folds and nose her clitoris, or tilt her head up and suckle until Aziraphale screamed. She could reach up and play with her breasts, feel them quiver as she orgasmed, and still, unrelenting, lick and suckle and nuzzle until she drew another orgasm out of her girl and Aziraphale was held up only by the chains around her wrists.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, please, I want your cock. I want your cock in my mouth oh _please_ my Queen, I just want to make you happy, I want to make you come, and fill my mouth with your spend.”

Crowley's hips jerked, and she decided she'd only make Aziraphale beg a little longer. Just one more shuddering orgasm.

Okay, two more. She'd discovered when she squeezed one of Aziraphale's breasts hard, she groaned low, and begged again for Crowley's cock.

After the next time Aziraphale shook and shuddered and jiggled and wailed, though, she was swollen and hot under Crowley's tongue, and what had been begging had turned to real sobs. Not a safeword, not yet, but Crowley's heart softened and she carefully slid  _ under _ Aziraphale's body, moving to kneel behind her and unhook her hands from the wall, lying down now at her back and rubbing her hip, then her belly, soothing and diffusing her touch.

“There we are,” she murmured. “My precious angel pet. You are the  _ best _ I've ever had, do you know? You're exquisite. What a good pet. I didn't know anyone could make me as happy as you.”

Aziraphale nodded, choking a little and crying, and Crowley urged her to turn over, to cuddle close.

“I don't want to h-hurt you,” Aziraphale protested.

“Hush, now. My arm's under about ten pounds of padding and splints and things,” Crowley comforted. “You're not hurting me a bit. You've made me feel so much better, just tasting your juices. See, you taste so lovely!” She kissed Aziraphale softly, then again. “Aren't you yummy?”

Aziraphale giggled softly, her tears slowing. “I am. I love you, my Queen. I think I was made for you.”

“Oh, pet.” Crowley held her a little closer, and kissed her pretty hair. “Then I was made for you, to be your Queen and take care of you and keep you happy for all your days.” She smiled, and kissed her soft and slow, letting Aziraphale ground, letting her taste herself, and ease back into her body. “And good pets get rewards.”

Aziraphale perked up happily. “I do?”

“Mmhmm. Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

Aziraphale sighed and pressed closer. “Oh, my  _ Queen _ !”

Crowley laughed and tilted her chin up, kissing her one more time. “All right, little pet. You begged and begged, but now you've earned it. You may have my cock.”

Aziraphale actually  _ squeed _ , and dove between Crowley's legs, pushing her dressing gown out of the way and swallowing her cock down almost at once, mouth and tongue working her over, her hands on Crowley's thighs, gently rolling her onto her back, moaning around her thick mouthful.

She looked up, pure bliss in her eyes, and Crowley couldn't keep looking after that. After the way her angelic mouth stretched around her cock, the way she looked so happy and fulfilled, suckling hungrily, one hand coming up to play with Crowley's nipple.

She groaned and fell back, letting the delicious pleasure sweep over her, and holding off as long as she could, trying to make this last, how loved she felt and how  _ wanted _ . Aziraphale had  _ begged _ for this loved her cock and her body and her  _ her _ . And it was sexy beyond what Crowley could dream of.

“Oh, pet,” she gasped, breathing faster. “I'm going to --”

Aziraphale popped her mouth off, and the sudden cool of the air startled Crowley so that she looked down just in time to watch her come stripe over Aziraphale's breasts, to her pet's happy sigh.

Crowley lay back down, said a lot of  _ extremely _ bad words, and moaned, the last of her orgasm shaking through her like electricity.

She looked up blearily as Aziraphale knelt next to her, her chained-together hands rising so she could finger the sticky white stuff on her chest. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Mistress.” She tasted a fingertip-ful, and shivered and moaned, and Crowley lay back down with an angry groan. No human could take this.

There was soft laughter, and the sound of moving about, and then Aziraphale took her in her arms, wrists still encased in Crowley's bracelets, but freed of their chain.

“My Queen,” Aziraphale said warmly, gathering Crowley to her, to her newly-cleaned chest and her soft body and all her impossible love.

Crowley just smiled, and snuggled close, their game ended – for the moment. But, of course, Aziraphale was still there, and always would be.


	17. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, it’s the return of the Bike Girls, last seen on Day 5 and Day 9! This is set just a few days after they meet. They run into Gabrielle while out, and talk about things over coffee and cakes, and Aziraphale is very brave and sets some boundaries and did I mention is very brave?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: a word that begins with c and ends with t is used as an epithet, a character is verbally and emotionally abusive

It took until Monday for them to go just a hair stir-crazy, which even Aziraphale admitted was a feat for her. “I'm rather a homebody,” she explained while Crowley got her boots on. “But I miss different walls.”

Crowley laughed, and made sure Aziraphale was as comfortable as she could be. Which wasn't _very_ , admittedly. Paracetamol could help with the pain in her arm and her neck, but not the fact she couldn't turn her head, or she had to somehow juggle the sling and the neck brace and being down to one non-dominant hand. They were getting good at figuring out what worked for her, and her body, though.

“Don't blame you, sweetheart,” she said, and kissed her, very softly. They were still sort of trying out kissing.

(They had made it all the way to the day after they'd met before they kissed, and decided it wasn't so much that they wanted to go on a date as that they  _were dating_ , and then they'd kissed some more. But that's a story for another time.)

Aziraphale smiled and kissed her back, savouring how wonderfully  _gentle_ Crowley was. A hand at the small of her back as they left, and she...minded less how awful she looked, with her arm in a heavy bandage and the ugly neck brace.

She lived just a few streets over from Tadfield's sole coffee shop; a few very  _pretty_ streets, at least. Everything in Tadfield was very pretty, even a flat in a converted mansion, which was where Aziraphale lived. Way up on the second floor, tucked away in the back where it was quiet and she looked down on the garden, and it was very, very nice. She hadn't needed noise-cancelling headphones since she'd moved hardly at all.

Crowley kept a hand on her the whole walk, grounding and sweet, and they enjoyed the late summer together, admiring a particularly lush garden on the way, and all the little brick houses. Crowley lived in one of those a few streets in the other direction; Aziraphale hadn't seen her house yet, but it was only a matter of time. Once she felt a little better, wasn't spending most of her time in bed, or her big easy chair, she'd go over for dinner or something. In the meantime, Crowley didn't seem bored spending her time in Aziraphale's flat and even sleeping on her sofa.

(Admittedly, it  _was_ a terribly comfortable sofa. But still.)

The village was quiet on a Monday afternoon, even when they reached the edge of the High Street. There were a few people in the cafe, and Newt behind the counter, of course.

“Hullo there – oh Christ, Aziraphale, what _happened_ to you?” he asked, a greeting she expected to get used to.

“Bit of a bicycle accident. I look worse than it is,” she said, and wasn't even forcing her cheer. She _felt_ awful, but it really wasn't bad, considering.

Newt made sympathetic noises, and offered to run a sandwich over anytime she needed it, which made Aziraphale blush and protest and, finally, accept.

Crowley just slipped an arm around her shoulders, cuddling her close as they came up to the counter. “My treat,” she said, and Aziraphale protested.

“You've been waiting on me hand and foot!”

“Newt, my treat,” Crowley said, and smiled at her girlfriend. (!!) “You can cover tea for us tonight, if you're so fired up about it.”

“I will then,” Aziraphale sniffed. She'd had to turn her whole torso to just see Crowley looking like the cat that ate the cream, and felt huge and unwieldy and awful. She pivoted back to speak to Newt. “Iced lavender honey latte, please. And a slice of angel cake.”

“Coming right up,” he promised. “Crowley?”

“A pour-over, please,” she said, perusing the list. “The East African one, that looks lovely. Oh, and a flapjack.”

“It's grand,” Newt promised. “I'll bring everything to you when it's done. Sitting out in the garden?”

Crowley pivoted this time so Aziraphale could see her if she canted her eyes over at least. “Oh, let's. It's a beautiful day.”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale agreed, moving over so Crowley could pay. She knew when she was beat.

Crowley still held her free hand, and it made Aziraphale's heart quiver. Had anyone ever made so  _much_ of her? Sure it was honeymoon-phase or whatever, and she obviously felt sorry for Aziraphale, but, well. This also just felt like...how Crowley was? Soft-hearted thing.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Aziraphale, it's been a _weekend_! What the hell happened!”

Aziraphale's eyes closed and she shuddered, pulling her hand away so she could twist the fabric of her dress. “Gabrielle.”

She  _felt_ Crowley whip around.

Holy shit.  _Holy shit_ . Crowley was so excited to meet the actual dumbest person on all of Planet Earth, the being who was  _so stupid_ she  _dumped Aziraphale_ . This was going to be amazing. Crowley was going to buy  _her_ coffee too, just to say thanks for being a total moron and giving Crowley a shot at paradise.

Gabrielle was – well, she was beautiful, there was no way around it. Dark hair and violet eyes, and wearing a suit that Crowley clocked immediately in the four-digit price range, and not the  _low_ four digits. Nails done, hair done, makeup done, oh, she was  _good_ . Those shoes alone – no ostentatious red bottoms for this lass. There were no flies on Gabrielle.

She was not, however, wearing the expression Crowley had expected. Even if  _she_ had taken complete and utter leave of her senses and dumped Aziraphale, if she'd then stumbled on her three days later looking like she'd been through the wars, she would have been  _concerned_ . Mildly worried, perhaps.

(She had  _met_ Aziraphale like this and was about to lose it most nights just before she fell asleep because she had time to remember that this incredible woman had been hurt, and it could have been worse, it could have been so  _so_ much worse. So even though it hurt her heart every time Aziraphale made pained little noises or closed her eyes to breathe and rest a moment, or moved stiffly, at least she was well enough to be home, well enough that Crowley caring for her was sufficient, and she didn't need, say, an entire ICU team okay cutting off  _that_ train of thought before she lost her shit in a coffee shop.)

Gabrielle's lip was curling in disgust, and Crowley abruptly grasped a little more of what Aziraphale had recently been through that hadn't involved taking a header into a ditch.

“Oh _hello_ ,” Crowley trilled brightly, still thrilled to meet the stupidest person alive. “Fancy running into you here!”

“Jesus Christ, I leave you alone for three days,” Gabrielle muttered, while Newt and the other customers were very English and extremely carefully ignored the little drama taking place. “Also, sorry, who are _you_?”

“I had a small accident on my bike,” Aziraphale said softly. “Crowley was right there. She got me to A&E, and she's been helping me since then. We're dating,” she added, proud and defiant.

“Oh. How...nice.” Gabrielle looked Crowley up and down.

Crowley looked Gabrielle up and down.

Gabrielle looked away first. “Well! Honestly, Aziraphale, you've brought it on yourself, you ought to have started...slower. You know you're not very active.”

“Hey now,” Crowley said sharply. “It was an accident. I've seen pro cyclists do the exact same thing she did and get taken out just as badly. It's not her fault at _all_.” She touched Aziraphale's shoulder. “I promise you,” she said softly. “You weren't doing anything wrong, you were doing great, actually.”

Aziraphale smiled and wished she could look down properly. She was surely wrinkling her dress terribly, twisting it in her free hand so hard. “Thank you, dearest.”

Gabrielle whistled low. “That was fast.” She eyed Crowley again. “Good luck with her or whatever. Aziraphale,  _try_ to not be so awkward?”

Oh,  _that's_ how it was. Gabrielle was a bully, simply a bully, which meant she'd be easy to deal with.

Crowley stepped in front of Aziraphale, shielding her from even having to look at this awful woman. “Shut up. Go away. She's her own woman, not mine. I adore her, but she's _hers_. And she's not awkward, you stupid cunt, she's taking care of herself. Bugger off, will you? She's hurt, and you can't even scrape up some sympathy.”

“Well!” Bullying _coward_ , she turned tail and stalked out.

Crowley whipped around again and put her arms very, very gently around Aziraphale, careful as she drew her in. “It's okay, baby,” she murmured. “You're so brave. Jesus Christ, what a bitch.”

Aziraphale laughed shakily. “Yes. I...yes.”

“Go find us a seat, honey,” Crowley said gently. “You need a moment?”

“Please?”

Crowley smiled at her, and kissed her cheek. “I need to apologize to Newt for scaring off a customer,” she admitted, and Aziraphale smiled back at her, and made her way out to the back garden.

“You really don't,” Newt said. “She _is_ a cunt, for the record.”

“Yep, got that,” Crowley said drily. “Somewhere in there.”

Newt, who was working on her pour-over, smirked at her. “I've got another two minutes on this. She'll be okay?”

Crowley nodded. “She just needs a few minutes to herself. I can take our things out.”

Newt bowed his head in acknowledgement; Aziraphale's drink was already done, even with a straw, good lad. She couldn't really move her head enough to make drinking easy; straws helped. All the little things they'd learned together to make her just a bit more comfortable.

When her coffee was done, Newt assembled a tray for her with their food and drinks, and slipped in a croissant. “They're her favourites,” he said, when Crowley looked like she was going to protest.

In revenge, she put a tenner in his tip jar, and carried the tray out to the little garden out back.

“Ready for me?” she asked called softly from the door. She _would_ go back inside and make small talk if Aziraphale needed her to.

Aziraphale just turned – oh, Christ, watching her move, she was hurting inside and out, and Crowley wanted to wrap her up in a duvet and kiss her for hours until she was holding a wriggling ball of pure joy made into a person. She just...wanted Aziraphale to be  _happy_ . That was all, truly. How could you know this girl and not want her to be happy?

(All right, if having a lot of sex also made Aziraphale happy that would be  _excellent_ . But it wasn't even the driving force, and that's when Crowley should have known that she was  _gone_ . For the rest of her life, it turned out.)

“Yes, of course. Sorry about that.”

Crowley set the tray down and moved to kind of...press Aziraphale to her, something like a hug where Aziraphale's head rested on her stomach and she could stroke the poor girl's hair and give her some kind of comfort. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. You poor darling. You're safe, I promise, I'll keep you safe.”

Aziraphale sighed and slumped against her, eyes fluttering closed. “I ripped my dress. At the seam.”

Crowley made a consoling little noise. “I know I don't look it, but I  _can_ sew a seam. We'll get you sorted out back home, honey.”

Another little sigh. “Thank you. So much.”

“'course, angel. I've got you,” Crowley comforted her. “Do you want to go home? We can bring everything with us.”

“No,” Aziraphale said with more courage. “I'm not...overwhelmed, exactly. And if I don't stay out for a bit I'm going to go all yellow wallpaper on you.”

Crowley laughed and knelt so she could kiss Aziraphale, just for a moment. “I get it. I broke my foot a few years ago and I think I went a bit doolally for a few weeks there.”

Aziraphale smiled, at her, and touched her cheek. “Poor lass. I'm all right. Sit and eat something.”

“You too,” Crowley ordered, taking her seat. “The croissant's for you, by the way. On the house.”

“Newt is going to nice himself out of business,” Aziraphale grumbled. She also took a big bite, and something in Crowley's belly got warm. Aziraphale really _was_ going to be all right; they'd sort her dress out at home and she was relaxed again – as much as she could be, anyway.

“If I may ask – how did you break your foot, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley's heart did a little flip-flop at 'dearest'.

“Oh,” she said. “It was dumb, really. Uh. I might have got a little drunk? And tried to prove I could ride a gravel bike down a pretty gnarly hill?”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale was smiling though, like she couldn't help it. “You didn't.”

“I did, actually,” Crowley said proudly. “Sure, halfway through I almost wiped out and I snapped a few metatarsals, but I made it to the end!”

“Picture me politely applauding,” Aziraphale told her. “You disaster.”

“Uh huh.” Crowley broke off part of her flapjack and ate it proudly. “You ever broken anything before, honey?”

“No. Well, I don't know,” Aziraphale admitted. “I fell down some stairs a couple years ago and my hand was a little messed up for awhile. It didn't seem worth it to get it checked, but I don't know. It really hurt.”

“Oh, angel. Which hand?”

“Right.” Which was the arm she'd broken – poor lass. Well, nothing had shown up terribly wrong on the x-ray – other than the expected break in her wrist – and anyway now Crowley was around to nag her into medical care.

“Don't take this the wrong way, Zira, but if I hadn't come along, would you have gone to hospital?” Crowley asked carefully.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said immediately, and Crowley relaxed a little. She did have some self-preservation! “I think they're being a bit silly about my neck, but the brace does help a lot, so I suppose I did hurt something there. And it was pretty obvious my wrist wasn't in good shape.”

“Good,” Crowley said. “Look, I don't...want to presume. Your relationships are yours, but based on what I experienced of your ex just now. Uh. Aziraphale. You're really special. You're really _good_. And you deserve good things. And you deserve to be looked after and cared for. I just...I know we just met and I can't believe I'm stepping out of my lane and it's okay if you're annoyed --”

“Crowley, breathe.” Aziraphale was smiling a little. “I understand. Thank you. I _do_ forget that sometimes. You care, and I appreciate that, all right?”

“Oh. Um. Thanks?”

“You're welcome.” Aziraphale gave a kind of one-shouldered shrug, and winced. “I can mask with the best of them, Crowley. But I'm tired and hurt, so you're getting me unfiltered. I'm sorry if it's too much.”

“You will never in your whole life be too much for me,” Crowley said without thinking. “Uh. I mean it. I don't understand everything about autism and you're _you_ and it's going to be unique to you, but...I want to? I want to know what helps, and what I can do, and what you can do. And I want you to know you aren't too much. And that I really, really like you.”

“You've never seen me hyperfixate yet,” Aziraphale warned, smiling a little, and perhaps her eyes were a little shinier than usual.

“Okay.” Crowley shrugged and took a slug of her drink. “We'll deal with it. I'm not always good with words. Sometimes I won't have the right ones. But I'll... _we'll_ figure it out. Deal?”

“Deal,” Aziraphale said, face absolutely shining, and Crowley, oh, Crowley would do _anything_ to keep her that happy. 

They lingered over coffee and cakes, Crowley taking a few bites of angel cake at Aziraphale's urging, but mostly she watched Aziraphale eat, slowly and savouring, and tried to think of conversation topics that weren't 'gosh you're so pretty let's just talk about how _pretty_ you are'. That was more of a bedroom thing, she liked to think.

“This is nice,” Aziraphale said suddenly, after they'd got done arguing about some books they'd both read. “Sorry, just – this is so nice, Crowley. Thank you.”

Crowley blinked. “Angel – thank _you_. You're right, this is lovely.” She smiled, and caught Aziraphale's eye, just for a second. Just enough so she knew the smile was for _her_ , but not long enough to make her uncomfortable. “Spending so much time with you is really fun.”

Aziraphale blushed a little. “You must need to go back to work soon, though.”

Crowley shrugged. “Not really. I might do some stuff next time we're at mine, if you can spare me, but I pushed all my deadlines back a week. Figured that would see you through the worst.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was wide-eyed. “You shouldn't do that for me.”

“Fine, then I'm doing it for me,” Crowley said easily. “For both of us, like. I'm enjoying having long days free to flirt with a pretty girl and help her feel better.”

“Oh, you.” Aziraphale was smiling and oh – yes! A tiny little proto-wiggle! Crowley was _winning_!

“Oh, me,” Crowley teased her, and there was a bigger smile, her pretty girl. She reached out and rested her hand on Aziraphale's cheek, gentle where it lay against the big neck brace. “Really truly. It's quiet for me right now. My clients are all pretty chill anyway, it's kind of a condition of working with me. I'd rather be kind to you, and get coffee and have cuddles.”

Aziraphale couldn't tilt her head, but she somehow did lean into Crowley's hand, sort of. “Am I good to you back? I mean – what's in it for you? I'm not a catch.”

Crowley touched her cheekbone, brushing it with her thumb, and thought about her words carefully. There was no sense in being glib here. She traced Aziraphale's ear with a fingertip, and then tapped her nose and made her go cross-eyed and smiling.

“I know we haven't known each other for very long,” she said. “But I think you are a catch. I like you a lot. I mean, obviously. You speak it's a little hard to believe, but I'll remind you loads. Yes, you are so good to me. You're caring and sweet and sharp, and I like that a lot. You're not afraid to tease me, and that makes me happy, but you don't hurt with your words. You're very smart, and very interesting, and very pretty. I'm sorry if this is a lot, but it's what's in my heart right now. What's in it for me is – time with my girlfriend. You make me happy, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled slow and sweet. “You make me happy too. I'm sorry. Um. I think. Gabrielle wasn't. Good for me?”

Crowley nodded, not pressing further, and reached for Aziraphale's good hand instead, and squeezed. “I'm sorry. I hope I'm good for you. I mean, for as long as I know you, I hope I'm good for you.”

Aziraphale smiled and squeezed back. “You are. Are you done your coffee? We should head back.” She sighed. “Time for the next round of paracetamol.”

“Oh, honey,” Crowley consoled. “You'll start to feel better soon,” she said, stacking their dishes on the tray.

“I hope so,” Aziraphale said quietly, so soft and sad that Crowley knelt down in front of her and pulled her into a real hug, kneeling between her legs to get close.

“I promise,” she murmured, stroking her back. “You're getting your cast soon, and that'll be lighter and easier than this old thing. Your body is working so hard, but those bones are stitching back together. Soon this'll just be a memory, a funny story you tell someday, like me and my broken foot.”

Aziraphale hugged her back with her good arm. “I don't know about funny. But you're right. I'm sorry, I'm all over the place.”

“Can't imagine why.” Crowley kissed her, and kissed her again. “Angel-girl. Sit tight, and let me take care of everything.”

Aziraphale smiled, clearly gathering her courage. “I know we just had a big talk about how much we like each other but, um, can I ask you a favour?”

“Anything,” Crowley said. Did Aziraphale want a star of her very own? Crowley could make that happen.

“Can you help me with my pills and stuff and then, um. Can I be alone, please?” Aziraphale blinked hard. “I understand if you don't want to take me back to hospital tomorrow, I'm being really bratty and using you as my personal chauffeur--”

“Shhh.” Crowley smiled and touched her shoulder. “Oh my God, Aziraphale. Of course. No insult taken. And of _course_ I'll take you to get your cast tomorrow, and home too. And stay if you like, or not. I _understand_. You've been through an awful lot the last few days.” She hugged her again. “You are _not_ being bratty. You're taking care of yourself and that is all I ever, _ever_ want for you.”

“You have to promise me to take care of yourself too,” Aziraphale said firmly, rubbing Crowley's back. “Do something really, really nice for yourself tonight. Rest, or do work, but do something that makes you happy. You have to promise.”

Crowley smiled. “Smart girl. I'm not good at taking care of myself really, hope you like riding my ass about that. But I promise you. I'll do a little work, and open a bottle of wine, and watch an old film or something. Sound good?”

“Acceptable,” Aziraphale said, and groaned. “Damn, I can't turn my head. Will you please kiss me? If you want to, I mean.”

Crowley laughed out loud and drew back, kissing Aziraphale for a good long spell, and then of course, it was time to go, to squire her home and get her settled, and take her own self home and live up to her promise.

Besides, she'd see Aziraphale again tomorrow, and would have to account for her actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have already started a sequel to this, that picks up the next day. Possibly.


	18. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is going to be punished horribly by being locked in a room with his worst nightmare, a demon from Hell. It goes great.

“You'll be punished, you know,” Michael said, and Sandalphon grinned a terrifying grin.

“Oh?” Aziraphale said, to hide his fear.

“Your worst nightmare,” Michael said, too gleeful to even pretend at her usual coolness.

Aziraphale actually began to be afraid about then. Crowley. They'd found Crowley. They'd hurt him. His own dearest heart, did they do something to him?

He thought for a moment of his bookshop, but the logic didn't work out. They wouldn't think of that. Angels and possessions were...weird.

But Crowley – they might have thought of _him_.

“Can't wait to see what's left of you,” Sandalphon said gleefully.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked. That was interesting. That implied something more like a hellhound, which meant Crowley was safe. (Aziraphale could sort out a single silly old hellhound. He got on rather well with Dog, he thought. He even had a few treats in a pocket somewhere.)

“No one to save you now,” Sandalphon continued, his eyes glittering more unsettlingly than usual. Some people had a twinkle in their eye. Sandalphon had the glint of broken glass. “The room is soundproof and lightproof, impervious to angelic miracles.” He smiled wider, somehow. “No snapping your fingers to get out of this one.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “That does sound a pickle.” This _definitely_ did not sound as though he were about to walk in on Crowley's flayed and broken body. Thank somebody. He was the Angel of the Eastern Gate, the Principality of Queers, he could handle anything else. He had handled millennia of fear and shame from his sibling-angels and survived, after all.

Sure, every day he had to pick away some horrible learned behaviour, a fear that constrained him, the anxiety that was an undercurrent to so much. Too often he mentioned something in passing that had Crowley gaping at him. (He still mentioned things in passing that made Crowley take him gently in arms, stroke his hair and swear he would never go through  _that_ again. Aziraphale hated and loved those moments in equal measure.)

“Oh, shut _up_ already,” Michael said, sounding deeply exhausted. She also opened a door, planted her hand between Aziraphale's shoulder blades, and gave him a hearty shove, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Ooof!” Caught off-balance, Aziraphale fell to hands and knees. “Ouch!”

“Bloody hell, angel, you can make an entrance.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sat up, pulling the kneeling demon into his arms. “Crowley, you're all right.”

“'Course I'm all right,” Crowley said, patting Aziraphale's back. “Were they monologuing at you, darling?”

“You have no _idea_ ,” Aziraphale sighed, as Crowley helped him to his feet. They were in a tidy room, windowless but with softer light than the rest of Heaven at least. There was a rather comfortable chair, and a glass of whiskey on a table next to it. “Oh, it's very good to see you, my dear. They said that this room would hold my worst nightmare, and I _did_ worry that, well.”

“It might be me?” Crowley smiled and kissed his cheek. “It is.”

“Well, perhaps they've heard your puns,” Aziraphale offered.

“Oi! No more of my sparkling wit for _you_ , you philistine,” Crowley threatened. “So yes, it's definitely me. But _just_ as me. What would be your biggest nightmare, but to be powerless in a room with your sworn enemy?”

“We stopped discorporating each other _ages_ ago!” Azirpahale protested, and sighed. “Goodness, they're not very bright. Well, dear boy. What next?”

Crowley slipped an arm around his waist, and of course Aziraphale pressed a little closer, a little warmer.

A snap of demonic fingers, and there was a small pile of ash on the floor. The nice furniture had changed to a vicious rack and some rather nasty-looking chains. Crowley still held the whiskey glass, and handed it off to Aziraphale for a sip. “That'll keep 'em guessing,” he said cheerfully. “We can't hide you more than a dozen centuries, angel, but perhaps they'll be thrown off enough to fully leave us alone.”

“One more touch,” Aziraphale said, and handed the glass back for a moment. His wings were out, and he picked a feather that was about to moult anyway and plucked it, not hiding a little gasp at the sudden shot of pain.

“Oi,” Crowley said, and touched his fingertip to where the feather had been, healing and soothing. “Steady there, love.”

“I think I'll live,” Aziraphale said, but he also kissed him. He gently laid the feather over the pile of ash, and went back into Crowley's embrace. “Will you take us home, my dearest nightmare? I think to the cottage to start, they can't _abide_ chickens.”

Crowley just grinned, and snapped his fingers, holding tight to Aziraphale.


	19. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale grieves what was lost in Heaven.

Aziraphale picked up his book again, read a sentence (and not even a Henry James sentence, just your ordinary sentence) and set it down again. He carefully marked the page with a ribbon and set it aside, feeling far too dull to read.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Crowley whirled in, replete with bags from the farmer's market and a cup of takeaway coffee. “Oi, angel! I got you something that's mostly sugar with some coffee, you'll love it!”

Aziraphale looked up and smiled for a moment. “Oh, thank you my dear. Goodness, mind wandering. May I help you with that?”

Crowley waved him off. “Nahhh, didn't get much anyway. Enjoy your coffee.” He handed Aziraphale the paper cup with an absentminded kiss.

“You're very kind,” Aziraphale said, because it annoyed Crowley, and indeed he got a cranky 'Shut _up_ ' echoing from the corridor to the kitchen.

He sipped the drink and smiled – sweet, yes, but with almond and cinnamon, good it's-almost-winter tastes. A little depth to it, and he sipped again, the heat moving through him.

“Angel? Everything all right?”

Aziraphale shook himself and looked down at his drink, gone cold in his hand. “Oh, I do apologise.” A touch, and it was steaming again. “Mind wandering.”

“Mmm.” Crowley came over and kissed the top of his head. “For an hour?”

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “Longer than that, I think. I'm sorry.”

“You don't owe me an apology,” Crowley said, like Aziraphale didn't owe him ten thousand apologies. For being a coward, for hurting him accidentally, for hurting him on purpose. For not loving him, like love could ever be wrong.

“I do.” Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, I miss Heaven.”

This startled him, but he hid it well, bless the demon. So to speak. “Oh?” Crowley asked carefully.

“Oh, not to go back,” Aziraphale assured him. “I'm not that foolish.”

“Never thought you were,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled at him, not quite believing, but, well. Anyway. “I'm sorry, you're the last person I should be talking about Heaven to.”

“Why?” Crowley asked. “I _don't_ miss it, so it's not like you're bringing up bad memories. And I want to listen, if I can help.”

Aziraphale sighed softly, and sipped his coffee, the sweet and the hot burning, letting him focus. “I wish I didn't. They hated me.”

“They did, angel,” Crowley said softly. “But those are people. What do you miss?”

Aziraphale smiled. “It was always the same. Unchanging. You know I have trouble...keeping up. It was rather nice to have a place that was precisely as it was made, even if it was a freezing, echoing horror show.”

“Familiar horror show,” Crowley agreed.

“I knew where I stood,” Aziraphale said quietly. “The bottom, but I still knew.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, and looked surprised. “You...don't know anymore?”

“You do?” Aziraphale asked, curious.

“Of course,” Crowley said. “I'm me. As me as I've ever been. Demon, black wings, the whole deal. I live in a cottage in Devil's Dyke with my best friend. I have a garden, and I go to garden club meetings every third Thursday of the month. I like loud, fast music and driving really fast and annoying people who don't teach their children manners. I'm in love with you, and I like visiting London, and don't like visiting Scotland unless we're someplace quiet. S'who I am. Part of it. Of course I know.”

Aziraphale smiled, slow and sweet. “Oh, Crowley. Oh, that's wonderful.”

“See? You know who you are, on our side,” Crowley said. “You go now.”

Aziraphale smiled wider and sipped his coffee again. “I'm...an angel, still. White wings. I can do miracles, though I mostly don't unless you've slipped on the ice on our front walk again. I live in a lovely cottage with my best friend, who I love, and who loves me. I...read. I go on rambles. I do not like cars. I love Bach. I can knit, badly, and do so every second Tuesday when my knitting circle meets. Ah. I like London, and Scotland, and don't mind the damp.” His smile grew. “I'm me too. Goodness.”

“See? It's not about where you stand. It's about who you are,” Crowley said gently. “And you are my Aziraphale.”

“Indeed I am,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sorry my dearest, I do still miss Heaven, a bit.”

Crowley shrugged. “All right. I miss lots of places. No sin in that.” He laid his hand on Aziraphale's cheek. “Further proof they don't deserve you. But anyway.” He kissed Aziraphale's brow. “We are us, now.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said gratefully. “ _Us_. Oh, I do like being us so very much.”

Crowley just grinned, and kissed him, and settled in the window seat such that his legs were in Aziraphale's lap, long and spindly, and they could watch the front garden together.

Aziraphale was quiet again, but it was a peaceful sort of quiet; he was back in his body, drinking his coffee and caressing Crowley's legs, and it was good. They were them; and perhaps in time he'd stop grieving for Heaven. Or not. It didn't matter much, when what he had  _now_ was so lovely.


	20. field medicine/medieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Crowley is discovered to be a demon and attacked and badly hurt, Aziraphale tends to him and his wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: major character injury, life-changing injury

At least the rain had meant that the pyre wouldn't start. Fire, even human fire, would have resulted in discorporation. And if not, burning did hurt like, well, hell.

Maybe this was better, in a way. The bones in his wings weren't even all that important. It didn't matter that the humans had snapped them. That they'd bound him and branded him and he was a demon but he wasn't; he couldn't defend or escape. And that was why he was in a field, in the rain, in the God-bedamned Year of Our Lord 1434, not that it mattered. The years all sort of ran together lately; the cycle of seasons unchanging, the bloody _peasants_ unchanging. Maybe that was why Crowley had thought he'd be safe.

He wasn't, though. They had figured out what he was, and did what good Christians did to demons, and left him in the field where the stumps of...whatever they'd planted made the ground knobbly and hard. Proper harvest-time feeling, this field. End of the old year, start of winter, and how long would your full larder last? Would it last longer, would God smile on you, if you tried to kill a demon? Would breaking his wings and hearing him scream work just as well?

He tried to push himself up, but it didn't much work. It hurt, moving  _hurt_ , everything hurt and there was no one to see when he started to weep, and it didn't matter because it was still raining because  _bloody fifteenth century_ wasn't turning out much better than the fourteenth.

A sound like a gasp. And – oh, an angel.  _His_ angel, he'd know Aziraphale anywhere, without even seeing him. It was a feel in the air. Crowley turned his head and groaned in pain and pretended it was because Aziraphale was dressed at least a century out of fashion. Beautifully – that was silk worked with real gold thread, you couldn't mistake it after you'd seen it once – but old-fashioned, and far too posh for a field in England.

“Oh, my dearest, what have they done to you,” Aziraphale murmured, kneeling in the mud and no, no, he _hated_ that _,_ Crowley tried to push himself up, to meet Aziraphale halfway the way he always had, but oh _bugger_ , his fucking _wings_ , when he cried out and fell to his belly again, a shard of pain too much.

“My poor darling,” Aziraphale murmured, and stroked Crowley's hair. “Shh, lie still. They're gone, long gone. My God, your wings...”

“Yep. Got that,” Crowley groaned. “Shattered. No angelic healing...”

“No, darling, but I _have_ picked up some field medicine, you know.” Aziraphale's hand was so nice in his hair, so gentle. “Now stop wriggling around, I've got to arrange this miracle carefully.”

“Huh?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and they were out of the rain, oh, that was lovely to not be rained on. They were _inside_ , even lovelier. There was a fire going because there was basically always a need for external warmth in these fucking times and on this rainy island. It was a big fire, and actually worked to warm the room. Or to heat the chimney that radiated heat, Crowley didn't much care just then. He stopped shivering.

“Oi, not to complain, but not even a bed?” he asked, when he realised he was still on his belly on what appeared to be the kitchen table. The house Aziraphale had taken him to was a decent size at least; the room they were in was large enough to hold the fireplace, a table, several chairs, and even a few more pieces of furniture. There was presumably another floor that would hold the bedroom. Simple, for Aziraphale's taste, but perhaps he'd learned something about protective colouration over the centuries.

Nah, it was probably a coincidence, what with him practically gleaming in the low light. Still, the sound of rain outside,  _not_ where Crowley was, was rather pleasant.

“You blocked the pain,” he said suddenly.

“Mmm, for a bit,” Aziraphale said. “I can't hold it back forever, love, and some might...leak around the sides. But I have to set your bones, and I do find it hard to work when someone's screaming bloody murder.”

Crowley chuckled a bit. “Soft bastard.”

“As you say.” Aziraphale's reply was absentminded; he was gathering things into a basket from a sideboard and if Crowley really craned his head he could see white linen bandages and thin splints of wood.

“Can you really heal my wings?” he asked softly.

“I don't know,” Aziraphale admitted. “They're...oh, love, the things they _did_ to you.” He paused and pressed a hand to his eyes. “I don't know. I can try. I can give you every chance, but some of the breaks...”

“It's all right,” Crowley said roughly. “Be cool on a demon. M'broken wings. Look even harder, that kind of thing.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and pretended to believe him. “Yes, love.” He smiled, even, his old exasperated smile. “Right. Lie still. Or shall I put you to sleep?”

Crowley shook his head. “Want to know how bad it is. Talk to me?”

“Of course, dearest. Right, then, best to get started, no more dilly-dallying!” If there was one thing Aziraphale was good at, it was chattering at Crowley, and he was in proper form today. Something about the weather to begin, and then a hard left into how the harvest had gone that summer and what the wine was likely to be like and really they ought to just pop over to Italy when Crowley felt a bit better, _so_ much nicer than what they got here, and a bit of sun on top of it and wouldn't some warm weather feel lovely?

It was a good background hum, Crowley had to admit, for the deeply unusual and only a little horrifying sensation of his bones being set. Aziraphale was doing the best he could, but Crowley thought there were some places where...well, there wasn't anything worth setting. His wings would likely never heal right. It would be okay, though. They'd figure it out, and it wasn't like he  _used_ them for anything.

He gasped once, when something popped back into joint, and Aziraphale paused, a hand warm on his back. “All right there, dear boy?” he asked softly.

“Fine, fine,” Crowley said, breathing like that would help anything. “I'm...how bad is it?”

A pause.

“Bad,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Crowley said.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Crowley assured him, grateful he could be truthful about it. “I can, um, feel what you're doing. But it doesn't hurt.”

“Good.” Aziraphale stroked his hair for a moment, then resumed his work.

It took a long time, long enough that Crowley actually dozed off a bit, the warmth of the house and the low hum of Aziraphale's monologue soothing him, and he only woke at the absence of motion.

“There,” Aziraphale said, sighing. “There you are. Oh, love...”

“Hey, no,” Crowley pushed himself up, groaning a little, but...wow, yeah, his wings were _not_ moving. “It's all right.” Curious, he miracled up some mirrors, angled so he could see his own back. 

Aziraphale did neat work; the bandages were all clean and tied off, the splints firmly in place. His wings were folded against his back, bandaged and set to see what would come of it. Crowley turned a little, getting cautiously used to the extra weight and the stiffness. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Please don't. Thank me, I mean,” Aziraphale said, and the mirrors vanished as he cupped Crowley's face in his hands and kissed him. “I love you. Do you think you can make it up the stairs, if I help you? You'll feel better in bed than on that table.”

“If you help me,” Crowley agreed. He was a little wobbly and oh – Aziraphale must have dried his clothes at some point. He was warm again, which helped a good bit. Leaning on Aziraphale's arm helped more, the two of them carefully getting him up the narrow stairs and into the great room. The bed curtains had been drawn back, as well as the coverlet, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers and hot bricks appeared, lumps at the foot of the bed.

“Better stay on my stomach,” Crowley guessed, as Aziraphale helped him into bed. They could only draw the covers up as far as his hips, really, but it was warm enough. Especially with Aziraphale perching at the head of the bed, his hand entwined with Crowley's.

“How long can you stay?” Crowley asked.

“As long as you need me,” Aziraphale said, and allowed himself a smile. “I'm in some good graces after a few well-timed miracles. We're in a quiet spot on the edge of a forest. No one will find us here, Crowley.” He squeezed Crowley's hand, “You can rest, and heal.”

Crowley just smiled, and tried his best to do that.

It was slow going. By Christmas, he could walk about on his own, without leaning on Aziraphale's arm as he'd had to do for the past several weeks. They celebrated with a roast piglet and wine and taking to bed, Crowley still on his belly but lying atop Aziraphale this time, kissing lavishly in the still, sparkling night air.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Aziraphale made a soft sound, and kissed him back, a hand creeping beneath his bandaged wings, stroking the soft skin and the dip of his spine.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered back, and they held each other close, grinning in between their kisses, because who was as lucky as them?

“How many Christmases?” Aziraphale asked, tickling the seam where Crowley's rump – such as it was – became his thigh. It was a much more delectable area on Aziraphale's body of course, but since the angel was lying on his back and Crowley was very content, he let that go. Every week he could do more, and that included more and interesting things that made Aziraphale yelp and go cross-eyed, or just moan sweetly under Crowley's body. “Over a thousand by now, I suppose.”

“Easily,” Crowley guessed, wriggling a little. He could do that now too, if he was careful. “Wonder what it'll be like when we've had two, or three thousand together?”

“Exactly like this,” Aziraphale predicted. “You, me, a glass of something alcoholic. A fire. A starry sky, even if it's covered by clouds.” He rested a gentle hand on Crowley's bandaged wings. “Rather less pain, I'd hope.”

Crowley smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Aw, I'm all right. Stop fussing.”

“I absolutely shall _not_. Not until you're out of bandages and we know what we're facing,” Aziraphale said.

“We?” Crowley asked.

“Oh. Ah.” Aziraphale looked away. “Forgive me, dear boy. I overstepped.”

“What? No! No. I just.” Crowley touched his cheek, tried to turn his head so he could meet those changeable eyes. And people thought he had demonic eyes – well he did, but Aziraphale had fae eyes. They were hazel-green tonight, green like the oak and holly kings who were supposed to have fought a few days before. Of course Aziraphale had the pagan eyes, of the two of them.

“You didn't overstep,” he tried to explain. “Just. It doesn't have to. Whatever comes of it. It doesn't. You...shouldn't worry. It can...not affect you.”

“What absolute rubbish,” Aziraphale said. “If you are left...limited, or in pain, of _course_ it will affect me. If we are to remain...compatriots.”

Crowley couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Compatriots?”

“Fine. Lovers.” Aziraphale gave a grim little smile at the way Crowley looked over his shoulder. “If we remain as we are, beloved. Of course it will affect me. Because of how I...feel for you. Thus, I say 'we'.” He thought a moment. “Of course, it won't be to the same extent as it will affect you, and that perhaps was cruel of me.”

“No,” Crowley said. “Not cruel. It. Good. You're going to be there. Here. That's good.” He gave up on words and returned to kissing. It was a better way to show his feelings anyway. That yes, he'd carry broken wings for perhaps the rest of his days. That Aziraphale wouldn't know what that was like. But Crowley would be beloved, would have someone to help, someone who...understood as best he could. And that was pretty bloody good, for a demon and an angel who were supposed to hate one another and instead, in this strange time when abbeys were prayer factories dotted across the land and castles were war factories likewise, and everyone else tried to survive – this time, they had each other.

It wasn't quite spring – more the last days of winter, when hope of spring is about to die – when they figured Crowley's wings were about as mended as they'd ever be, and Aziraphale carefully took the bandages and splints off, smoothing feathers as best he could.

“How does it feel, love?” he asked, when everything was off and Crowley simply stood there, wings gently folded against his back.

“Eh,” he said, and shrugged carefully. “Twinges. Sore. Not real pain.” With a deep breath, he carefully spread his wings.

Or tried to. The left one actually opened most of the way and stretching it out was a good kind of pain. Probably. The right...only went so far, part of it hanging strangely.

Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale moved to stand facing his wing, gently easing it to straight, but stopping when Crowley inhaled sharply.

“Maybe in time?” Crowley offered, trying again to stretch, and again only getting so far. He winced, and folded his wings back.

“Hm,” Aziraphale said, and put his hands on his waist. “Well, that's that, dear boy.” 

“Guess so,” Crowley said, not sure what to do, or say, or...anything. “Ah. Guess I should put them away?”

“Don't be silly – not just yet,” Aziraphale said, already getting a really good bustle on. “They were an absolute wreck, and I _know_ how you feel about messy wings, seeing as you feel the need to share your opinion of mine regularly. Go lie down and spread them as best you can, dear, and I'll groom them for you. At least no one can say boo to _that_.”

Crowley smiled, feeling a little chastened and a lot lucky – it did feel so good getting his wings sorted out, and it wasn't exactly something demons did for each other. 

He settled on his belly on the big bed, and spread his wings as much as he could – not very, but perhaps things would get better with time. Or perhaps not. He'd manage, and Crowley closed his eyes in pleasure as Aziraphale started in on the right-hand wing, the really bad one, easing joints held in one place for so long, and straightening and smoothing feathers that badly needed it. His luck might have been out, but he had fallen in love with Aziraphale, and that helped an awful lot of things.


	21. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU: Aziraphale stumbles on a feverish, injured woman in the forest, and brings her home to nurse her back to health in the ONLY ONE BED in her cabin. Whatever will happen next to them? It is truly a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just a quick note: this is more like a sketch or a highlights reel of what will I hope, someday, be a considerably longer story!)

Aziraphale swung her axe over her shoulder – with the leather guard firmly in place thank _you_ very much – and headed off into the woods to chop firewood. It wasn't terribly cold yet, but the evenings were getting nippy, and Madame had just had a litter of kittens who needed a bit of help staying warm, the little mites.

She whistled happily, following deer tracks and no trails at all, knowing these woods perfectly, her own little domain. She had bought a small house and a bit of land with her inheritance, deep in this forest. She'd worked hard to live free and unencumbered, and it was still a surprise. Still lonely, to be without family. Still uncertain, but there were so many things that _were_ certain, Aziraphale got by. She might not be too clear on what it meant to no longer be of the Angel family, but she was pretty clear on the size of the woodpile and the turning season.

And besides, uncertainty didn't beat her, or shame her, which put it one up on home. She wasn't the type to be loved, or treated gently, as much as she quietly yearned for it. People like her weren't treated tenderly, and she might as well get used to it.

Anyway, it was a good life. A fine, sturdy little cabin. Cats and chickens, a donkey, a turkey, and a pig, plus a vegetable garden that was unlovely but served her well. She had crows for friends and the sky and her own freedom, and a monthly trip to town for whatever she couldn't make on her own. It was a good life. And, most of all, she was  _safe_ .

Of course, everything changed that day.

She heard the faint call and paused, not even sure what it was, but knowing it wasn't one of the usual sounds of her forest. And there! There it was again! That was a person!

Aziraphale had chopped enough firewood for a few days at least, and she'd find this place again, of course. But she also didn't sheath the axe as she made her way through the thick woods. Just in case.

“Help,” came the weak call. “Help, please.”

Oh, the poor thing. “I'm coming!” Aziraphale called. “Keep calling! I hear you!”

“Please, help.” Whoever was calling sounded weaker than ever, and there was a sudden burst of coughing.

Aziraphale started to run, all the way to the trail that ran through here and oh!

There in the dirt, there lay a woman. She had brilliant red hair and was dressed in black with a heavy cloak.

“Oh,” she said, and looked up, her golden eyes bright with fever. “Oh, thank God you've come.”

“What's wrong?” Aziraphale asked, falling to her knees. “Can you sit up?”

The woman moaned and pushed herself up, arms shaking with effort. “I'm...I think I'm dying,” she mumbled, and moaned again, collapsing. “Fever. Sick. Ran away.” She coughed. “Didn't  _know_ I was sick when I ran away.”

Aziraphale couldn't help a smile. “I didn't think so. Hush, now, you're not dying.”

“ _Feel_ like it,” the woman moaned. “And. Um. I hurt my leg.”

“Good grief, what _happened_ to you?” Aziraphale asked tenderly. “You poor little thing. No, lie still, let me get you sorted out. Which leg?”

“Right.” The woman rolled over onto her back and bit her lip as her leg jarred, making a horrible sound. “I ran away. From my brother. Got sick on the road. And lost. Climbed a tree to try and see...something. Fell.” She closed her eyes. “'m sorry. I'm so sorry. Leave me here.”

“I absolutely will not,” Aziraphale said briskly. “You're sick as can be and you've got a nasty gash on your calf. Let me get you back to my home. I can doctor you well enough. You're plenty strong enough, you're hardly going to die from a fever and a cut.”

“Sure about that?” the woman asked weakly, but she smiled at Aziraphale. “You're pretty.”

“You're _delirious_ ,” Aziraphale told her. She was _maybe_ handsome _at best_. She'd never been pretty. Everyone had always said so. “What's your name, by the way?”

“Crowley,” the woman murmured, eyes closing. “I'm Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.” Right. First thing was to bandage that leg. Crowley was a mite of a thing, Aziraphale could easily carry her home. Then doctoring as best she could – wash her wound, give Crowley something for fever, and hope that she started to feel better soon.

Getting home was easy; Crowley weighed about as much as a bird. She was tall, taller than Aziraphale, but folded up in her arms, resting her head on Aziraphale's shoulder as they made their way back through the forest. Aziraphale had managed a makeshift bandage with their handkerchiefs, but she didn't like the ugly gash, nor the way the torn skin was already inflamed.

She settled her new guest on her own bed, that being the only bed in the small cabin. At least it was comfortable, a mattress of fresh straw and plenty of quilts and down-filled pillows. Crowley's cheeks were bright red, and it almost hid the fact that she had freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks.

Aziraphale tried to not think about how cute she was. It wasn't the time. It would never be the time, because the feeling wouldn't ever be returned.

(But gosh, she was really cute.)

She boiled a generous pot of water and used some to make a tea she knew was good for fevers and the rest to mix with some specific herbs into a poultice for Crowley's wound. She had bandages and the like, of course – way out here on her own, she did her own doctoring. Luckily so far it had been mostly minor things, cuts here or there, or a sprained wrist.

Aziraphale helped Crowley sit up, trying to give her a soft cushion with the pillows while she sipped her tea and some of the boiled water – once cooled – was pressed into service to clean her leg. The cut was ragged and ugly, long but not too deep, and Aziraphale thought that there might not have been too much damage to the muscle of Crowley's (very shapely) calf.

“You'll have a beast of a scar,” Aziraphale predicted. “And it's already infected, but it hasn't spread.”

“Worst comes to worst, you _do_ have an axe,” Crowley pointed out.

“That's not funny,” Aziraphale said.

“Sorry, I'll work on my act,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale looked up and smiled at her.

“You'd probably better,” she teased back. “I”m sorry, this is going to sting.”

Crowley didn't hide her yelps and cries, and honestly Aziraphale was glad for it. It meant she knew when to be careful, to at least _try_ to keep it from hurting as she washed the wound out thoroughly and applied the salve. It wasn't perfect, but it would help Crowley fight off the infection; being sick wouldn't help that.

She bandaged the poor woman's leg from ankle to knee, and reckoned she'd done what she could. “I'll check it tomorrow, dear,” she promised. “But the best thing you can do is take your medicine and rest. Are you hungry at all?”

Crowley shook her head. “Funny that,” she mumbled. “'s been a long time.”

“That'll be the fever. And the fear. You poor little thing,” Aziraphale comforted as she tucked Crowley in. “You've been through so much. I promise you're safe now, and I'll look after you until you're well.”

Crowley gave her a kind of dozy smile. “You're so nice. And pretty. Like an angel.”

Aziraphale threw her head back and laughed. “Pretty ridiculous-looking angel,” she said, and patted Crowley's shoulder. “You rest, dear, and I'll make you some broth, get your belly used to being filled again.

“Angel,” Crowley said firmly, her eyes too fever-bright, but she was smiling. That might be fever too – who smiled so widely and so tenderly at Aziraphale?

“Hush now,” Aziraphale said softly, and went to put a pot on the stove.

Crowley wasn't sure how long it had been when she blinked awake in golden autumn sunlight. Maybe overnight? She felt heavy and safe. Her leg hurt, but her head didn't, at last, and she thought her fever might have gone down. Perhaps that's why she was awake; she was getting better. (Well, before gangrene set in and a beautiful butch woodswoman had to cut off her leg.)

She turned her head and learned that maybe you couldn't die of being too lesbian, but you could _want_ to. Her gorgeous butch angelic rescuer was sat in a broad shaft of sunlight before a wood-burning stove that was presumably the source of the delicious warmth in the cabin. She was sat cross-legged, and had a basket of kittens beside her. Well, the basket was beside her. The kittens were on her.

“Yes, Mister Mittens, we will have a good lunch soon,” she promised. “Your mum's just resting.” This to a little ball of black fluff with white paws who was cupped in her hands. Mister Mittens was set down and she giggled when an even tinier grey kitten tried to scale her by climbing up her shirt. It was of some rough fabric, cream-coloured, and the top few buttons were undone. She had cuffed the sleeves just below her elbow, and her plump forearms, dusted with white-blonde hair to match her close-cropped curls, swelled and moved with powerful muscles.

Crowley felt decidedly even weaker, and opted to cheer on the little grey kitten who was doing an admirable job of scaling Aziraphale's bosom. (Aziraphale! The angel had a name, and Crowley even remembered it! She was only 99% a useless disaster!) Crowley knew how the kitten felt, especially when Aziraphale giggled and petted its back, and laughed when it fell into her shirt, catching it against her chest.

Crowley was going to actively die, but that was all right, because maybe she'd come back as a kitten and get to scale Aziraphale's bosom and nestle against that soft skin.

She must have made a noise, because Aziraphale looked up and she _smiled_ , oh, what a smile!

“Crowley! You're awake! Oh, my dear, it's so good to see you doing better!” She popped the kittens into their basket and rose, coming over to kneel by Crowley's bed. “How do you feel?”

Crowley smiled at her and tried to reach out from under the covers, and was shocked at her own weakness. “Tired. My leg hurts a lot. But good.” Her smile grew. “No fever. I don't feel ill.”

“No, your fever broke last night. I expect you've been sleeping it off since then – it's just a few hours before noon now.” Aziraphale's smile was so lovely. “You poor thing. It's been three days since I found you.”

Crowley's eyes went wide. “Three _days_? I'm so sorry...”

“Hush now. I'd thought you were exaggerating, but Crowley...you were really, really sick.” Aziraphale stroked her forehead, smoothing her hair back. “You're likely going to be weak for some time.”

“And my leg?”

Aziraphale sighed. “The infection is finally clearing up. I'm hoping your body will better be able to fight it off. I don't think you'll lose any mobility in the long term, but that will take time to heal too. I have to change your bandages soon, and you can see what it looks like then.”

“Why are you so kind to me?” Crowley asked. “You don't know me.”

“So? You're a very sick, very hurt woman who asked for my help,” Aziraphale said, like that explained everything.

“Oh,” Crowley said, not quite sure what to say to that. Her problem was solved when Aziraphale got up to make them a little lunch – a hearty soup that was full of rich flavours and some crusty bread to go with it. The bread was a little much for Crowley, but she sipped the soup hungrily, too weak even to feed herself but _definitely_ all right with being tenderly spoon-fed by Aziraphale. She sat on a low stool beside Crowley's bed and the muscles of her thighs bulged, tight against her trousers. Crowley managed a good-sized bowl before truly being too full, and Aziraphale set it aside and patted her stomach.

“You did wonderfully,” she said warmly. “You'll get your appetite back as you heal, and we can try a lot of little meals until then, build your strength up. Let me eat myself, and make sure the kittens are all settled, and then I'll tend your leg.”

“All right,” Crowley said, absolutely certain she would never be able to look at Aziraphale without getting weak in the knees. Especially the way she fed the fire, and petted the basket of kittens – and their mother, Crowley had caught sight of a little tabby head – and finally ate herself. Good; she was doing so much, it was comforting to see her well-fed.

After lunch wasn't so nice; her leg was really hurting, hot and aching, and when Aziraphale carefully undid the bandages they were stained and gross. Crowley pushed herself up to look and blanched.

“It's actually doing better now,” Aziraphale said grimly. “If you can believe it. You won't lose your leg unless it gets reinfected, and that will not be happening. Lie still and find something to bite on, dear heart, this isn't going to be nice.”

Crowley did as she was told and oh fuck oh _fuck_ it hurt. Searing and sore and leaving her with tearstained face and breathing hard, but she didn't scream and...it felt better somehow. Cleaner. The salve helped – she felt scoured clean, and the fresh bandages felt good on her leg.

“I'm _so_ sorry,” Aziraphale said, after setting the bandages aside to be washed, and coming back to sit by Crowley's bed. “I'm sorry, Crowley, I wish it didn't hurt so.”

“It's all right.” Crowley scrubbed at her eyes. “You don't have to apologise, you're helping. You're helping so _much_.” She smiled a little from her pillow, catching Aziraphale's gaze. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

“Hush now,” Aziraphale said, bright red. “You're overtired.”

“Well, yes, but I also mean it.” Crowley smiled and closed her eyes. “Napping now.”

A soft laugh, and Aziraphale touched her shoulder. “Napping now,” she agreed, and Crowley sank back into a deep sleep.

There were so many happy things about the day Crowley was strong enough to get out of bed. First was that the infection in her leg was gone; there was still some healing to do, but it would heal true now, and there weren't all the frightening, awful colours and things.

Second, was that Aziraphale successfully managed to make a simple wooden crutch so Crowley could hobble around the little cabin.

Third, was that they kissed. By accident – Crowley had stumbled on something and Aziraphale caught her and then they were kissing, and Aziraphale was kissing this brilliant, witty, beautiful woman and _she was kissing back_.

“Wha?” she asked, dazed, when they came up for air. Crowley was still in her arms, but one of _her_ arms was around Aziraphale's shoulders, her fingertips touching the soft curls at the nape of her neck.

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed. “Oh yeah. Do that again?”

Aziraphale laughed but it was also something of a sob, and pulled Crowley close again to kiss her, to kiss her again, she wanted to kiss _again. She liked Aziraphale_.

Eventually they made it over to the bed so Crowley could sit and they could press together, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder.

“I can't believe you couldn't tell,” Crowley said.

“I don't get fancied,” Aziraphale told the ground. “I don't...I thought, maybe. But perhaps you were just being nice.”

“I'm not nice,” Crowley said, and nudged her. “I bet lots of girls fancied you. I _definitely_ fancy you, if that wasn't clear.” A soft pause. “Aziraphale, you're so special. I adore you.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale turned and hugged her. “I can't believe...you're just...” She laughed and shook her head, somehow already crying a little. “I'm sorry. I'm...not used to being liked.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said softly, and rubbed her back. “My poor angel. You've just not met the right people. You're a gem.”

“So're you,” Aziraphale said roughly. “Oh my God, so are you. You're funny and sweet and silly and you make me laugh and you're so, so strong.”

“...I can walk about ten feet before my leg hurts too much, but go on, oh chopper of all our wood,” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale laughed and cuddled her close. “I didn't mean like that. My poor, precious Crowley, you've been so ill. But you fought through it. You escaped, and you got yourself help and you're getting better every day. You're strong.”

Crowley smiled and shook her head, but didn't argue. “We're both sillies. When did you know? That you liked me?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Oh, gosh. I don't know. A little while ago. You?”

“When a beautiful butch angel carried me home through the forest,” Crowley said softly.

“Oh!”

And what was there to do but to make up for lost time, lay themselves down on the bed, and kiss and caress until it was time to do chores – chickens, unfortunately, not much caring for romance.

Epilogue:

“I got the peas planted, love,” Crowley called as Aziraphale came into view. She'd gone to town to pick up things they needed, and sell the things they didn't, and Crowley quietly hoped for maybe a bottle of good wine and a bolt of cloth – they both could use new shirts.

“Oh, well done!” Aziraphale jumped down from the wagon, patting the donkey so she might consider staying where she was, and ran over to embrace Crowley and kiss her hello. Two days apart was an awfully long time, it turned out.

“How are you?” she asked softly, and Crowley went back into her arms, holding her and being held.

“I'm fine, you worrisome thing,” she murmured. “Got by just fine. Come in, you're road-weary – I've a bath ready for you.”

“A bath!” Aziraphale's eyes lit up. “Meet you inside? I have to rub Buttercup down and feed her, and I ought to put everything away...”

“You take care of the animal, I'll take care of our fresh stores,” Crowley said. “And make sure your bathwater is hot. And you can tell me all the gossip while I wash your back.”

Aziraphale sighed happily again and they set about their chores, Crowley quickly unloading the little wagon and taking the perishable stuff inside; feed and the like would be Aziraphale's domain until (if) Crowley got strong enough to haul it around.

She still limped badly, but they hoped that would heal in time. And she still needed a stick for long distances, but she got by. Crowley was finding ways to be useful, and better than that she was beloved. Better than anything, she was loved and loved in return, cared for her lady with all her skill and kept Aziraphale happy and fed and warm and, best of all, knowing she was worthy and special and good.

Crowley checked the pots and kettles on the stove, all softly steaming, and started to empty them into the great copper washbasin, throwing in a handful of lavender she'd found, just to make it smell pretty. Next summer she'd try to cultivate some roses, and cover her love in their blooms. But for now, this would do. Hot water to cradle Aziraphale and ease her muscles, and a willing beloved to wash her down and make her laugh and get a good proper dinner into her before she fell asleep in the little bed they shared.

Crowley heard footsteps and rose, turning to welcome Aziraphale home.


	22. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has been captured by Hell. Aziraphale knows how to find him.

Go under the water to be reborn.

Everyone knows that.

That's what baptism is, really. You are one person; you go from land to water and you become another person. Aziraphale had never stood up to his waist in a river being ducked and cleansed of his sins, but even he knew _that_. You go under the water to be reborn.

Go under the water to die but do not die. Walk into the waves and into the underlands. Everyone knows that too.

Go across the water to die. You must pay the ferryman. Everyone knows that.

Crowley went to hell via an office building, but that was just a modern kind of thing. Convenient. Just like once Aziraphale had had to go into the wilderness so he could walk with God and be not, so Crowley once went under the waters to go to Hell.

Aziraphale wondered if that worked for Heaven too; but his Heaven wasn't very cthonic, so he decided likely not. And anyway, now he would find out, for Crowley had gone to Hell and wasn't coming back. Wasn't  _allowed_ to come back.

So Aziraphale had to turn to the old ways, the oldest ways that only he and Crowley probably remembered. He had to go to the ocean (one-way ticket, to the Suffolk coast, near Aldeburgh and Britten's sad sweet airs filling his lungs and his heart) and walk in (across the rocks that clicked under his feet a strange crunch in the deserted sea air). He didn't feel the cold, and didn't mind the icy wind and the grey sky and the smell of brine, and no one saw the angel walk under the waves.

No one saw him enter Hell, not one quiet angel bound on a journey. Maybe if he'd been there to destroy Hell, maybe he'd be noticed. But he wasn't.

No one saw him follow his heart down corridors. He did not lick the walls, nor did he cower from the dripping, nor did he deviate from his course no matter what creatures he walked past.

No one saw him find the room, a touch of his hand to release the lock. A thing of child's play, from this side of the door. An open door, a beloved looking up, wide-eyed and afraid, naked and cold, bruised and bloodied.

No one saw him take the demon in his arms, gentle, careful, his weight that of nothing. Aziraphale carried Crowley not back but forward, through the wall, to the sea, to the great icy ocean full of salt like a womb. He carried Crowley here, deeper than where there were waves. Dark, but not, because he was an angel and made his light.

Crowley stirred after a bit. The water had washed his wounds clean, the salt promising to help him heal. The cold had soothed his bruises, and still Aziraphale walked them under the waters, carrying Crowley. There was probably some reason for that, a way to break the curse, but mostly it was because Crowley was hurt, and weak, and tired, and deserved to be held tenderly.

It took three days to walk out of the sea, because three is a magic number. They walked out hand-in-hand, clothes dry as soon as they hit the air, and no one saw them. Even if the beach had been full – and it wasn't – no one would see them. It was quiet and the air was hard with cold and salt, and they smiled at one another.

“Fancy a pint before we set off home?” Crowley asked.

“Just the thing,” Aziraphale said, and they went to find a pub and human things and a fireplace, preferably with a dog in front of it, and a pint of best bitter, and human things that weren't under the water at all.


	23. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is exhausting himself for the sake of Heaven, but that’s not Crowley’s problem. Until it is, because sie just had to go fall in love with an angel, didn’t sie?

Aziraphale made it back to the bookshop, just. He was swaying as he stumbled in the door, and it was pretty nearly only habit that let him keep his feet.

“Angel!” Crowley was right there, hand on his elbow, guiding him into the shop. “You look awful.”

“I do apologise for not being up to your standard,” Aziraphale snapped, even as Crowley guided him over to the sofa.

“That's not what I meant,” Crowley said softly. “You've been around other angels too much, you always get like this.”

Aziraphale felt like a cow, and patted Crowley's hand. “I'm so sorry, my dear. You're right.” He sighed. “I feel a bit awful, don't mind telling you.”

“What have they got you _doing_?” Crowley demanded, even as sie got up to put the kettle on. “You're completely depleted, even I can feel it.”

Aziraphale smiled, and rubbed his brow. “Continuing education. Iphiel worked out a method to rapidly deploy multiple miracles at once, so we've all got to learn and practise it. And my employee review on top of that. Started off the day, though of course days don't really exist...how long have I been gone, actually?” he asked.

“About three hours,” Crowley said, filling the pot with tea. “Bugger, they've got you all out of sync.”

“And I've got just an hour before I have to go back,” Aziraphale sighed. “Daphreel has some new technique for measuring the range of a miracle, and as the angel who actually _performs_ miracles the most these days, they wish to work with me.”

“Are you joking? You're absolutely wrecked!” Crowley brought over the cup of tea and Aziraphale took it gratefully.

“I'll be quite all right with a cuppa and a quick miracle,” Aziraphale assured hir with a smile. “You worry so.”

“You can't keep...it doesn't work that way!” Crowley growled. “Why are they doing all this research and stuff, you said yourself they don't even bother to do miracles anymore!”

Aziraphale sighed. “It's simply to keep in practice, Crowley. It's a way I can contribute to the Heavenly choir to the best of my abilities.”

“Being the bloody agent on Earth not enough?” Crowley muttered. “Don't I provide plenty of demonic workings for you to thwart?”

There was a polite silence.

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “I don't like to _say_ but....”

Crowley gave a little growl and threw up hir hands. “Fine! Wear yourself to nothing for them. I'll be at my flat when you're done,” sie grumped, and snapped hir fingers and – ah, yes. Aziraphale could always feel where Crowley was and it was as sie had said. In hir flat, with rather a nice bottle of wine.

Aziraphale sighed and regarded his tea. He finished the last dregs, and miracled himself awake and ready to go again, wincing at the the sharp pain this caused, like a muscle over-used. He'd be fine. He just had to not fail at one thing, and he'd be fine.

A few hours later, Crowley'd had a chance to cool down and utterly refused to take it. That stubborn angel was going to make himself sick, or worse, if he kept at it. Of course they could miracle themselves back to full power, but it was like a candle burning itself out. Eventually they had to stop and rest and regain strength the slow way, refill the reserves kind of thing.

Reserves. Fine whiskey came in reserves, and didn't sie have a few bottles put down, of that kind of thing? Sie did indeed, and poured hirself a lovely couple of fingers and just a dash of water to let it bloom.

No one to drink with, but that had never bothered hir before. Sie lounged in her throne and pulled up a mirror; it had been some time since sie had made renovations.

Hair first, an undercut with a curly quiff, thus checking the boxes of 'gender neutral', 'fuzzy'  _and_ 'curls to play with'. Not that an angel would want to play with hir curls. Or would be allowed to.

Face the same, always. Maybe not always the prettiest, but striking, especially with lipstick the colour of dried blood and eyeliner to make hir golden eyes glow. Sie smiled at the mirror, and attended to hir body.

Breasts! Sie hadn't had breasts in an age, time to bring  _those_ back. Sie went for something of a Dolly Parton look first, dismissed it as a great deal of fun but not really  _hir_ , and then tried on a more streamlined look. 

All right, but not really what sie was feeling, so it was back to playing with breasts. A little on the large side, but sie liked that, cupping one in a hand and squeezing softly. Nice to play with.

Sie had never bothered with genitals and found no particular reason to start; sie and Aziraphale might have naked cuddle time but it was about once a millennia they got around to actual sex, and Crowley usually picked what sie was feeling in the moment. But sie did make hir hips bigger and her bottom rather rounder; nothing on the angel, but still. A rather femme body, and sie completed it by making her heels even higher and pointier than they had been, hir jeans practically painted on and oh, just unbutton hir blouse one more button!

Feeling very, very pleased with hirself, sie dismissed the mirror and wondered what trouble sie could get up to tonight.

None, it turned out; sie could smell the angel at her door. He could come and go as he liked and no door needed, but he  _did_ like to apparate in hir foyer, silly thing.

Sie sighed and hauled hirself up to go greet him. “Oi, angel, how'd corporate bullshit go?” sie called, wandering through a corridor that had only just been brought into existence. Sie liked how hir heels clicked on it.

“My dear.” Aziraphale was paler than ever, his hair mussed and eyes sunken. “I do apologise.”

“What fo-- oh bloody _hell!”_ Crowley sprinted the last few meters because Aziraphale was sinking to his knees. Falling, really, a faint he could barely control, and sie arrived just in time to catch him, dropping far harder to hir own knees and not caring around the jarring or the shock of impact, because it was hir Aziraphale, and he was just...empty. Exhausted, purely exhausted.

“Oh, angel,” sie said softly. “What have you done?” Sie pulled him into hir arms, cradling him. “Poor love, poor love,” sie crooned since there was no one to hear. “I've got you now. Fuck's sake, you're a mess.” Sie smiled and pressed a kiss to his brow. “Never mind that. Let's get you seen to.”

To start with, London would never do. This called for care, and rest – and a holiday.

“Leave everything to me,” sie murmured, standing with Aziraphale still limp in hir arms.

Aziraphale woke up and the first thing he heard was a peat fire. A good crackle. That was the sound of a fireplace that had been built specifically to make a room feel cozy and peaceful, perhaps to encourage one to pick up a book and a cup of hot cocoa or a glass of wine, and while away long winter hours.

The next thing he heard was the sound of rain against a window. Again, coziness, reading, et cetera and so forth.

The final thing he heard, the thing that got him to open his eyes, was the sound of off-tune demonic singing. Something with a lot of repeating lyrics where if Aziraphale called it be-bop he'd be subject to an extended lecture on how it was  _not_ be-bop no one had ever in the  _world_ called this band be-bop, et cetera and so forth again.

“My dear,” he said, and caught Crowley mid-lyric.

“Yeerk!” Crowley said, also mid-dance step, although not for long because gravity took over and sent hir to the ground. “I'm all right!”

Aziraphale just lay under the covers and laughed. Oh, everything was going to be fine.

“Hi, angel,” Crowley said cheerfully, perching on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale fished an arm out from under the quilt, shocked at how difficult it was. It was so nice to hold Crowley's hand, though. 

“Hullo, love,” he said softly, and squeezed hir hand. “Where am I?”

“An uninhabited island,” Crowley said. “Well, I mean, at the _moment_ it's inhabited. Somewhere in the North Atlantic. One of those little ones.”

“And...why?” Aziraphale asked, although he wasn't _too_ concerned with the answer. He'd just caught sight of the bookcases lining the room.

“Because you need a holiday,” Crowley said firmly. “You collapsed, d'you remember?”

Aziraphale shook his head slowly. “I'm sorry...”

“Shhh.” Crowley leaned over and kissed his brow. “You don't have to be sorry. I think you exhausted yourself, angel. You need to rest, and I reckoned this was a place tailor-made for you resting.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “It is. Thank you. Are you...will you stay with me?” he asked softly.

“ _Aziraphale_.” Crowley lay down beside him, cuddling into his side and Aziraphale managed to get an arm around hir, his lovely demon. “Of course I'll stay. Someone's got to make sure you get food. You couldn't do a miracle if you needed to right now.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Is that the only reason why?”

“ _No_ , and you know it, and next topic,” Crowley said briskly while Aziraphale hid a chuckle. “How do you feel?”

“Weak,” Aziraphale admitted. “Tired. Good. It's warm here, and you're right it's...I feel safe,” he admitted. “I need to rest, and I will. I'm glad you're with me.” A quiet pause. “Crowley, I'm not all right.”

“I know, baby,” Crowley said, and kissed him properly, soft and sweet, arms coming around him. “But you will be. A little rest and some good food and plenty of books, and you'll be right as rain.”

Aziraphale smiled and nestled closer. “I'm sure I will be, love. Lie with me a little?”

“Just a little,” Crowley teased. “You should have some tea and a bit of lunch soon. I was thinking a cheese plate and some fresh bread, with just a bit of dried salami?”

“And mustard?” Aziraphale asked dreamily. “And sweet butter for the bread?”

“Of _course_ ,” Crowley said, mock-offended that sie might leave such things out.

“That sounds utterly scrummy,” Aziraphale said, settling again in the big, comfortable bed, held by his beloved and with promise of long, soft days and good food and rest yet to come.


	24. forced mutism/blindfolded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which revenge on Aziraphale and Crowley is poetic and cruel in equal amounts.
> 
> (Please mind the warnings in the chapter notes!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for body horror, including eye and mouth injuries. This is rather more gruesome than I usually write.

Demons were scary. They were vengeful and cruel, and so very _dull_. Crowley didn't like them for himself, but he truly feared what they might do to Aziraphale, such that they had wards ten layers deep everywhere they settled for more than a day or two. And had the same for angels, for about the same reason. (Although they both feared what angels might do, should they get hold of Aziraphale again, hellfire trick or no hellfire trick. They didn't talk about it much, because what would talking do? Better to be safe, and enjoy what they had found with each other and their own side.) And of course there were always humans to worry over – most were perfectly fine, of course, but a few thought it would be a great idea to have a pet demon. (It was not a great idea.)

What they should have been afraid of was when all three came together. Because between demons, angels and men, they could capture the both of them. And they could all get what they wanted; power for the men, revenge for the angels, and fun for the demons.

They'd got Aziraphale first, guessing correctly that he'd be the best bait, and he was. It was unimaginable that Crowley wouldn't go after him, wouldn't go to wherever he had been. So they got him too, wrapped them both in bonds they couldn't break free from. The human who had set the traps was handsomely rewarded, promised a place in both Heaven and Hell. And, because witnesses were not useful, was quickly given the opportunity to choose which he preferred.

There was some debate about trading off, the two being shackled back-to-back, the two sides of a coin. But finally the angels took Aziraphale and the demons took Crowley. It was the best way to be fair, though they had conferred on what the punishments would be.

Aziraphale hit the ground, jarring his body, his knees and wrists sharp with pain from the impact. It was a different pain than the one in his head, the one that wouldn't ever leave, he feared. Sandalphon, surprisingly, had been missing. It had instead been Uriel who had grinned as she fitted metal plates over his eyes, moulded to fit his face, and carefully nailed them into place. Ethereal creature that he was, he didn't have a brain  _as such_ to be damaged, nor sinuses to be penetrated, but in this strange balancing act between corporeal and angelic, he absolutely had a skull to drive short nails through, and eyes to cover, cold metal pressed against his closed eyelids.

He had been taken from his Crowley, his love, his best friend, and maybe it was for the best. Crowley loved Aziraphale's eyes, and it would have broken his demon's heart to see them nailed shut, the nailheads flush against cold metal. Aziraphale didn't even try to remove them; if there was a key for  _that_ lock, it wasn't him, or at least not him alone.

And that was that, and here he was, on hands and knees on a polished floor. Hard and cool. Not cold; he was inside, out of the wind. Aziraphale gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to kneel. Figure out where you are. Then find Crowley. You can do anything together, just find Crowley.

He stretched his wings out and blinked open the eyes there, and still saw nothing. Well, not quite. He saw heat and cold, he saw the patterns of the air moving, he saw ghosts. Enough ghosts that he was still in London, and oh. Oh, of course. With one eye he saw in something like radar, and if he was in a room that wasn't warm and wasn't cold and was full of plants – yes, he must be in Crowley's flat.

Perhaps not the most comforting place, but familiar. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out. Not so much stronger – his face and head were an explosion of pain he didn't like to think about – but more determined. He knew where he was. He was blind, but not.

Quiet. Cautiously, Aziraphale started to move about. It was confusing, all the different eyes seeing different things, but if he walked slowly, he could move in space and even be vaguely sure of where he was.

It didn't help, mind, that Crowley's flat tended to rearrange itself. Sometimes it did so helpfully, other times...less so. Aziraphale had definitely got lost for a day or two once just trying to find the wine cellar, although upon reflection, perhaps that was Crowley just being Crowley, and his flat helping him out.

Things were a bit different this time. For one, he wasn't sure that Crowley still existed.

There, he'd thought it. He'd thought that awful thing, and now he had to make sure it wasn't true, which meant trying to find him, find what kind of state he was in, try to protect him as well as Crowley had always protected him, which was so, so much more than Aziraphale ever deserved.

True thoughts again; annoying things. 

There was no one in the next room, nor the one after that, which Aziraphale thought might be a bedroom. And oh, wasn't that tempting, to lie down and let his body rest? They had held him fiercely; of course it was his ruined face and eyes that hurt the worst, but he ached all over. To ease, to rest...no, keep going though.

There were two doors from the corridor he wound up in; trusting to poetry, Aziraphale took the lefthand one, and found he'd guessed right. At least, there was something warm and vaguely Crowley-shaped in one corner.

“My dear?” he called out nervously. Warmer than the air around him, it meant Crowley was alive.

A groan, and the figure in the corner began to move. 

“Dearest, can you see me?” Aziraphale called.

He could see movement, sort of. It was like seeing the ripples in the air; proof of the movement without the actual movement. Oh, his  _eyes_ . Would he see again, or was Crowley always going to look like this? 

Didn't matter. Crowley was alive. They'd work the rest out.

A wordless howl, so maybe Crowley had seen him. How awful did it look on the outside? Aziraphale curled one of his wings around, but none of the eyes there were really any good. The metal nailed to his face had warmed from his skin, so even that wasn't discernible, he thought bitterly.

Crowley was walking painfully too, and Azirphale hurried over, and somehow they found each other, Crowley's wiry strength folding around him, holding him, and Aziraphale bit back a sob. They were together again; they'd been allowed this, at least.

“Sweetheart, what did they do to you?” he asked softly, and Crowley pulled away, and took his hand, and held it to Crowley's own mouth.

Aziraphale gasped, feeling the rough cord under his fingertips. The ugly stitches, starting in his cheek and sewing his mouth shut. There was even still wet blood there, sticky on Aziraphale's fingertips.

“No,” he murmured. “No, they didn't, my poor love. Oh, Crowley.” And he folded his demon into his arms, wings coming up to shield them from the world, filling the air with the scent of frankincense and amber. “Shh, darling. I'm here now.”

A little grunt of annoyance, and Crowley freed an arm, bringing his hand up to touch, very gently, the metal plates over Aziraphale's eyes. He must have had blood on his face too; Crowley touched something sticky, anyway.

“Er, yes. Well. Rather shows what they think of me,” Aziraphale said. “I can't get them off by myself. Probably something we have to do together. They're poetic like that.”

Crowley hugged him roughly, and stroked his hair, and Aziraphale tried not to cry. He wasn't sure he could, not really. And everything hurt, but also his Crowley was alive. Horrifically injured, his poor  _mouth_ , but alive.

Crowley touched Aziraphale's chest, pulled him close, and snapped his fingers.

The sudden change in air and temperature and IR had Aziraphale staggering a little, but there was a soft bed right there – oh, Crowley's bed! He knew this well, this comfortable warm place, for Crowley kept his bedroom quite warm, a few plants to provide a little life, but mostly a great wonderful bed.

They held each other, sprawled across it, for long moments, and Aziraphale tried not to notice how much his face hurt. Not much to do about it, after all.

Crowley's hand on his again, guiding his fingers up to Crowley's mouth, and miming undoing the ugly stitching that had muted him.

“Oh, love...it's going to hurt so much,” Aziraphale murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

An impatient sound, and he  _had_ to smile. “Well, I am.” 

He tried scissors first – the cord they'd used was a rough jute, horrible against Aziraphale's fingertips, and he couldn't imagine what it was like through fresh wounds. But of course nothing would cut it, not even the knots at either end of the cord. There was nothing to do but kiss Crowley's cheek softly, promise to make it as painless as possible, and get to work on something he couldn't even see.

Aziraphale's fingers were thick, his hands plump and strong and square, but he thought perhaps he had something of a light touch. All the magic practice; he was better at delicate things than one might expect. It helped.

It didn't make it less painful; the thick cord and the fact that Aziraphale had to work it backwards, drawing it through punctured, bruised skin, easing it as best he could. But it moved, and slowly, trying not to think about it, he unlaced Crowley's mouth.

They were both shaking as he drew the cord through the final hole, and Aziraphale covered Crowley's mouth with his fingers in moments, intending to heal and – oh. Finding nothing. Finding a wall.

“Oh, the _cruelty,_ ” he breathed, and gathered Crowley close, hugging and letting himself be held. “It'll be healed before you know it, love. I promise.”

“Shh,” Crowley said, and made a soft, pained sound. “You hush. What the fuck have they done to you?”

Aziraphale laughed nervously and pulled back, touching the metal over his eyes. “Oh, my dearest.”

“Monsters,” Crowley breathed, and he cupped Aziraphale's face in his hands, brushing his thumbs softly over the metal plates. “Hurt?”

“A...a bit,” Aziraphale allowed. Crowley wouldn't have believed him if he'd said no. And the truth, that it hurt so much he could barely concentrate, that he wanted to lie there and scream until he could see again, until he couldn't feel each individual nail in his skull – that wouldn't help anything.

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley breathed, and his voice was so sad.

“Shh,” Aziraphale said. “I'll...adjust.”

“Fuck you will,” Crowley muttered, and brushed his lips, oh, his poor mouth, over one of the metal plates.

Aziraphale just about didn't scream when the nails pulled out. Just a bit. Just enough for someone to get a grip, and pull the rest of the way.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Crowley hissed, and kissed the other plate, where the same thing happened. He kissed again, and Aziraphale bit back a scream as the nails plunged back in, fair to the metal.

“Shit, shit, sorry,” Crowley mumbled. Soft as anything, his face warm next to Aziraphale's, one last kiss to shift the nails out.

“Do it quick,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley laid him down. It was easy, at least – he only had to take hold of the nail head and pull, and it was free.

Aziraphale passed out after the third nail, and he was grateful for it. Grateful he only came to when it was all done, and there was a warm, wet cloth across his eyes, an his demon was cuddled up to his side, weeping not very quietly.

“You did it,” Aziraphale said, and licked his lips. “You saved me.”

Crowley gave a little howl – oh, poor thing, his mouth must hurt so much. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and he could do this, at least. An ice pack, wrapped in soft linen and pressed to Crowley's lips, and a soft, shuddering sigh. 

It was going to be awful, but they'd done it. They'd been the keys to unlock the other. Aziraphale wasn't sure if the punishment was supposed to be hurting the one they loved best, or if their sides thought that they'd never actually cooperate. Even odds, really, and he also didn't much care. Not now, not when he could pull the cloth aside and his eyes were swollen shut, but he thought they might still work.

In the end, it took nearly a week for the swelling to go down enough that he could see, and even then it was sometimes cloudy. Crowley healed a little faster, the stitching around his lips scabbing over, the swelling fading until it was just painful if he spoke too much. 

They were tireless in nursing each other, and didn't much leave the bedroom that week. Easier to hold the other, to provide ice or little treats, to kiss (Aziraphale) and caress (Crowley). Aziraphale cuddled and petted his demon, and they both listened to audiobooks, lying so that Aziraphale was little spoon, so he could be absolutely certain that Crowley was right there and wasn't going anywhere. 

Sometimes they left Crowley's bedroom. There were rare times when they both felt well enough that Crowley carefully led Aziraphale to a sitting room, or a room full of fragrant plants he could enjoy, his eyes lightly bandaged and being guided by his sweetheart to smell and touch and enjoy. He breathed deep of flowers and herbs, and smiled when given little tastes of things – giggling when that included a gin and tonic with a sprig of rosemary he'd picked himself, Crowley's hand gentle on his.

Finally, he could see again, and Crowley's mouth was nearly healed, and they could kiss as much as they liked. And Aziraphale liked to kiss an awful lot; there were scars on Crowley's mouth, and he was tender with them, refusing to love them any less than the rest of his demon.

In turn, there were strange white scars in a halo around his eyes, remnants of the nails, and Crowley caressed them and kissed them, and made up terrible poems in praise of Aziraphale's eyes until he laughed and begged him to stop.

Demons were scary, and so were angels – with one exception each, at least.


	25. Blurred Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a found family, and sometimes it’s her turn to take care of them. (Castle Terra-verse)

“Thanks for coming,” Crowley said softly. “It's not a bad one this time, just lingering.”

Aziraphale nodded, going up on her toes to better kiss Crowley. “Of course, love. I brought some fun stories, and duller ones, if she just needs peaceful things.”

Crowley smiled. “I've been caring for her all day, some peace might be welcome.”

Aziraphale snickered softly. Crowley was the most wonderful nurse a lady could ask for, but she wasn't necessarily _relaxing_. 

Crowley led her into the Queen's bedroom, and Aziraphale's smile was genuine, and met by a likewise warm – if wan – smile from the Queen.

“My dear,” she said, and stretched out a hand.

“Your Majesty.” Aziraphale hurried the last little way and knelt, kissing the proffered hand. “You poor thing.”

“I don't know how you survive when she's nursing you,” the queen teased, and Aziraphale giggled softly.

“Special wife powers. I'm so sorry you're having a poorly time,” she said. “I can read to you, or just sit here quietly, whatever you prefer.”

“Oh, you dear. Will you just sit with me a little? Tell me about your day.” The queen smiled at her, and Aziraphale squeezed her hand. Poor lady – she got dreadful headaches that left her with blurred vision, no appetite, and not much energy. This one had lasted a day so far, and didn't seem to be improving.

“Of course, your Majesty.” Aziraphale smiled, and changed out the cloth on the Queen's head – Crowley had arrived with a new one, fresh and cold, before she had to hurry off to the young Prince Adam's lessons. “Close your eyes, there, that's better, isn't it? Let me see, it's been a quiet day, really. Most of my morning was looking up some records the maestra at Lanhydrock requested. She's an old school chum of mine, so it was so nice to be able to do something for her again...”

Aziraphale's day had, to be blunt, been rather dull. Crowley had been busy caring for her aunt, of course, and it was a quiet time of the year, the end of winter when it was best to really sink into research, or simply enjoy the lack of a rush. Sleep in a bit, and be lazy and soft and read by the fire, which was really what she was doing  _now_ .

It was a funny relationship she had with her Queen. Aziraphale was an employee, technically, but she was something else too. She had been tied firmly to the Library with ancient rituals; she was literally a part of the  _castle_ . And of course, she was all but married to the Queen's niece, the Princess Crowley. So there were interesting connections between them.

And she  _liked_ the Queen. She was earthy and gossipy and fun, and ran the castle with an easy hand. People here were happy, treated well and valued, and that came down to the royal family. Aziraphale was still a little in awe – she was a peasant girl with some education, and here was the  _Queen of Terra_ – but they'd got on well and warmly, and it felt right to be here and comfort her when she was poorly.

Reciting her day really didn't take very long; it was just mid-afternoon now, as Aziraphale noted. “Would you care for some tea, your Majesty?”

“No, but thank you, my dear,” she said with a soft smile. “Please, will you ask Ivy to bring you some, though? I fear you'll dry your throat out with me.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You forget how much I read to Crowley, my voice is pretty hardy. But I will – I think it smells so nice, don't you? Even when I'm too poorly to want anything in my belly, I like the smell of it.”

The Queen's smile grew, and Aziraphale rose to quickly flag down the Queen's own maidservant and request tea.

“I'll bring two cups,” Ivy murmured. “Just in case.”

“Please,” Aziraphale said, and smiled at her. “And her favourite blend, of course.”

Dastardly plan to make the Queen a little more comfortable in place, the two women parted ways for the moment, and Aziraphale retook her spot by the Queen's bedside. 

“How are your eyes, your Majesty?” she asked tenderly, after the Queen had reached for her hand again, squeezing softly.

She made a grumpy sound that was so  _completely_ like her niece that Aziraphale was genuinely startled – to say nothing of charmed. That ran in the family, at least. “Blurry as all hell. I can hardly see your face,” she sighed.

“There's those that would consider that a bonus,” Aziraphale teased, and was treated to _another_ Crowley-style little grunt. Good grief, this family; Chae had already told her that Crowley looked rather like her mum if she wore certain colours, but the genes must run strong, at least in the women of the family.

“Well, not me,” the Queen said tartly, and squeezed Aziraphale's hand. “You're a very lovely girl.”

Aziraphale couldn't help but giggle. “I'm nearly forty!”

“Right. Girl,” the Queen teased her, even as she closed her eyes against a wave of pain in her head.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, and laid her hand over the cloth. “I wish so that you didn't suffer from this.”

“It is what it is,” the Queen said, eyes still closed as Aziraphale's tea arrived – complete with fresh, cold cloth for the Queen, too. 

Aziraphale chattered a little more as she drank, and then started in on her books at her patient's request, reading from a peaceful, but interesting, history of a particular small village near the border with Gaia. She and Crowley had ridden past it often on their way to or from visiting Asha, and it was nice to read of little things they might perhaps stop and see the next time they passed that way.

The Queen drifted off not long before Crowley was due to return, and Aziraphale marked her spot and set the book aside, taking a drink of water and hardly daring to breathe. Sleeping came hard when she was like this, and best to give it as much time as she could.

Aziraphale looked up when the door opened, and Crowley's head stuck in. She held a finger to her lips and hurried over to the doorway, the two of them ducking outside and drawing the door shut for a moment.

“You got her to sleep, you absolute genius,” Crowley said, quiet but happy, and Aziraphale pulled her in for a kiss.

“Never doubt the power of a _very_ unremarkable village history,” Aziraphale said smugly, and laughed, held in her wife's arms. “How was Adam?”

“Worried about his mum, understandably. He did all right despite it, though.” Crowley sighed. “No improvement?”

“None. I'm sorry. Come, we can sit together and wait for her to wake up,” Aziraphale said gently. As much as she loved the Queen, this was Crowley's _auntie_. The woman who'd taken her in when her family of birth...well, no point in thinking that, she'd just get angry again. Her love was so worried, and it hurt to see her beloved auntie in pain.

Crowley smiled at her and slipped her dark glasses off as they entered, safe in her pocket. They could just about fit on the chair Aziraphale had been using together, as long as Crowley was mostly on her lap, which was one hundred percent fine with Aziraphale. She wanted to hold her wife and offer what comfort she could, while they sat quietly, and waited for the Queen to wake up. Waited to tend her, and be kind, and do what little they could to help until the headache receded and her eyes worked properly again.

Crowley rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder and Aziraphale stroked her hair, down in plaited braids today, and was, quietly, a rock for both women. It was the least she could do.


	26. Blindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of Crowley and her really hot blind girlfriend who is really hot and who Crowley loves a whole, whole lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note, that this...really isn’t a whump story. There’s no hurt/comfort; Aziraphale is blind in this AU, but she’s not a whumpee, and I’m really uncomfortable calling her one. But it was the prompt that birthed the AU, so here we are. (I promise there is extensive h/c when they meet -- already written for a future prompt! Sorry not sorry Crowley, you big disaster gay. You’ll be fine in a few weeks. Probably.)
> 
> Anyway! On to the story. This is set in an AU where they’re both human, both female-presenting, Aziraphale is blind and they are both giant lesbians. (Literally, Aziraphale is cute and fat.)

“How do I look?” Aziraphale asked shyly, twirling around slowly.

“Breathtaking,” Crowley said. “You're beautiful.”

“I need to find a neutral party to ask,” Aziraphale said lightly.

“We'll ask at City Hall. Aziraphale, you're _beautiful_ ,” Crowley said softly, crossing the floor to pull her soon-to-be-wife into her arms.

Aziraphale went easily, snugly, head resting on Crowley's shoulder and they were a picture together. Her angel in white of course; not a wedding dress, but a pretty, tea-length dress with lace along the hem and a red-and-black ribbon for a belt.

Crowley's suit was the same shades of red and black, and she wore a white rose in her buttonhole that matched the roses she'd pinned in Aziraphale's hair.

“Will you do my make-up, please?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley offered her elbow for the short walk back to the bedroom. Of course Aziraphale could navigate their flat easily, but the closeness was nice.

Crowley waited for her to take off her dark glasses – very pretty, butterfly frames with little rhinestones, they'd had fun picking them out together – and started in on her love's face. Not much make-up, but pretty pink lipstick and a little highlighter and blush. “Do you want me to do your eyes, love?”

“Please?” Aziraphale's eyes were a little strange until you got used to them, but Crowley was used to them, and loved how they held every colour, seemingly. A sweep of warm brown on the lids to make them glow and, very carefully, some mascara.

“There we are,” she said softly. “Prettiest bride in the world.”

Aziraphale giggled and went into Crowley's arms. “Good, 'cause I've got the handsomest bride in the world. I love you.”

“I love you.” Crowley kissed her softly. “When's the car getting here?”

Aziraphale wriggled free to check her watch, sensitive fingertips on the little bumps. “We've got fifteen minutes. _Not_ enough for a quickie, I don't want to muss my hair.”

“Awww.” Crowley pouted. 

“I'll make it up to you later,” Aziraphale promised, and they smiled and kissed, since it was their wedding day and they ought to.

They were ready to go when the car hire arrived, Aziraphale with her cane in one hand and her bouquet in the other and Crowley proud to squire her to City Hall, where they'd be married, written down in history forever as two people who loved each other so, so much, they tied their lives together.

It was a small, private day. The civil ceremony was fast and beautiful, and lunch with friends at their local was great fun, giggling and getting a little tipsy and teasing each other and just being very much  _them_ . They'd have a proper honeymoon later in the summer, but Crowley had reserved a swank hotel room for them that weekend, and proudly led Aziraphale not back to their flat – comfortable and beloved as it was – but to their just-married suite, big and lavish and notably featuring a  _very_ comfortable bed.

“Crowley, you ridiculous...thank you,” Aziraphale said, slowly feeling her way around, learning the layout, her fingertips gliding along the soft duvet. “This is wonderful. What's our view?”

“The Thames, love. Far enough away to be pretty, even. I can see Millennium Bridge, and the Tate Modern past it. If I stand hard at the window and turn right, I can see St. Paul's Cathedral.”

Aziraphale's smile grew. “Oh, how lovely.”

“It's beautiful,” Crowley said, throat a little choked up. “That's London out there, old and new. All the layers of time. Oh, Zira, it's beautiful.”

“I'm the one supposed to get all weepy about that,” she said warmly, and drew close into Crowley's arms, a little hesitant but confident in her destination. 

“You're a bad influence,” Crowley said, and kissed her, and kissed her again. “I love you so much.”

Aziraphale's smile was really something special. “I love you too, Crowley.” She laughed, and hugged her tight. “Take me to bed?”

“Thought you'd never ask, angel.” Crowley said. “Hold on, and trust me.” And she swept Aziraphale into her arms, carrying her over to the bed bridal-style (of course!), and settling her amidst the pillows and cushions and she was laughing and everything, everything in the world was perfect.


	27. stoic whumpee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is badly hurt, and that’s awful enough. But what really gets to Crowley is -- why is she so quiet?
> 
> (Set largely in 1920′s London, female-presenting Crowley and Aziraphale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: major character injury, Heaven being blatantly abusive

“It's a new plan,” the archangels explained to her. “Something for all of our Earth agents.”

“Oh, Aziraphale said. “How funny, I thought I was the only one!”

“You are,” Gabriel explained with his eerie grin. “But perhaps someday we'll have more! Not, of course, that you'd let the Other Side defeat you.”

“Oh, er, well,” Aziraphale said, thinking of Crowley. Her wife; that's what they called each other. Did marriage count as defeat? She didn't think so, but also was not about to ask. “What...what does it encompass again?”

Michael sighed loudly. “Internal polling has determined that angels lack empathy and compassion for the humans we're ordered to protect. As our earth agent and the angel to live among humans the longest, you were selected to trial a new technique for allowing angels to experience aspects of human experience generally not known to us.”

“Like...?” Aziraphale asked. She was fairly sure a holiday in Majorca was not forthcoming but oh, humans did like joy. They were full of it now, just a few years after the end of that terrible war.

Michael pulled out a sheaf of papers and shuffled through them. “Ah, here we are. Pain, injury, helplessness, fear, vulnerability, uncertainty for the future, long-term damage to corporation.” She squinted. “Oh, never mind. We removed acceptance of care from the list, so no need to worry about that. It was deemed too positive.”

“We're sure you'll succeed with flying colours!” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Remember, God loves a stoic, that's what I always say! Extra points for not complaining, it's Christlike.”

“...right,” Aziraphale said. She was _good_ at complaining. And how were the points being worked out? “Well,” she said. “I'm very honoured to have been selected to trial this new programme. When do I begin?”

“Now,” Sandalphon said, and shoved her in the chest, sending her flying, tumbling down the long, curving marble staircase that was the focal point of the grand entrance to her home. Their home, for she shared it with her Crowley.

Aziraphale screamed, startled at first, and then hit the stairs for the first time, her body moving too fast, too wildly, and the pain was overwhelming, the first horrific crunch and slam and she was still tumbling down the long, long staircase. She thought she might lose consciousness before the bottom, but no. Her body was a broken heap at the foot of the stairs when the angels vanished, and the first cry of a servant was heard, and she was awake for all of it.

“Where is she?” Crowley demanded.

“In her bedroom, Mistress.” They didn't keep many servants, but Emmy was worth ten by herself (and was paid thus, too). She was deeply unafraid of them both, not to say unimpressed, and Crowley adored her. And tried not to think of how pale Emmy was at the moment, her eyes wide and red from weeping. “The doctor is still...tending her. Determining how bad it is.”

“Well he can keep that up,” Crowley said, running up the bloody fucking stairs and to Aziraphale's bedroom, the sweet lady mistress' room tucked away with the prettiest view. They mostly slept in Crowley's great bedroom, the one intended for the master of the house, but it was nice to have a little retreat and a place all her own. Also, Crowley had banned chintz from the rest of the house.

She skidded into the room, breathing hard and oh, Satan. Oh no. There was her Aziraphale, her beautiful wife, laid out in bed. She was wearing one of her simpler nightgowns, sleeveless linen, and nearly every visible inch of her was covered in bandages, bruises, or plaster.

“Oh, love,” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale turned her head with difficulty, smiling despite her split lip.

“Crowley,” she whispered, and closed her eyes as the doctor did something, and called to his assistant for more bandages.

Crowley drifted closer, leaning over and kissing Aziraphale's brow. Of course she'd tried a demonic miracle, the instant she knew Aziraphale had been hurt, and of course it hadn't worked. “Oh, angel. What happened to you?”

“Clumsy. You know me.” She smiled, and closed her eyes again, breathing deeply, but whatever it was ended quickly. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Crowley said, touching her cheek. “Oh, Zira.”

Aziraphale smiled a little. “Later. Tell you later.”

Crowley nodded, and went to get a chair to settle by Aziraphale's bed. At least she already had about a hundred pillows; they usually wound up on the floor but now they cradled battered limbs.

The doctor was nearly done, but Crowley didn't watch him; better to watch her angel, keep an eye on her. Aziraphale was quiet, and sometimes closed her eyes against pain, but never once cried out, or even cried.

There was hardly an inch of her left bare when the doctor finished his work, leaving his nurse to tie off the last of the bandages or better support something while the plaster cured.

“Well,” he said, straightening up and acknowledging Crowley. “We'd best talk about your wife...sir?” he tried.

Crowley smiled. Her suit was very smart, and she did like running around in men's clothes these days. “Ma'am, please.”

“Er, yes, ma'am.” He must be used to the bohemian set, he recovered faster than most. “Shall we step outside?”

“We shall not,” Crowley said. “It's my wife's body, she has the right to know what to expect.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Only some of my patients...well, never mind that,” he said, visibly rallying. “Right. Well, you can see yourself, she was badly hurt...” He went on to explain just how badly (very), the expected healing times (long), and long-term prognosis (unknown, but not guaranteed good).

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. “It's too soon to tell for many of her injuries. The best you can do is keep her comfortable and still, and provide little amusements that won't tire her overmuch. Time will tell how much she recovers.”

Crowley nodded, moving to curl her fingers around Aziraphale's hand. It was mostly bandaged, but the tips of her fingers were free – well, some of them – and they were soft and warm. “She'll have everything. No expense spared.”

The doctor smiled at her briefly. “That may not be enough.”

“Then we'll handle it as it comes.” It had been the angels that had done this to Aziraphale; Crowley _knew_ it. She might not be able to fight them directly, but she could keep her Aziraphale happy and cared-for, everything she might need right to hand.

The doctor promised to call again in a few days to check on her, and he took his leave.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Crowley was on the bed, curled into Aziraphale's side and dotting her face with kisses. “ _Angel_ .”

“Oh, sweetheart. Don't worry over me,” she murmured.

“The heck I won't,” Crowley grumped. “Why did they _do_ this to you?”

Aziraphale sighed. “It is to teach me...compassion, for humans. Well, to teach everyone, but I'm trialling the method.”

“I'm bloody sure they'll just be knocking angels down the stairs left and right,” Crowley said, eyes narrowed. “You really can't miracle this?”

Aziraphale shook her head and winced. “No. Quite clear. I am to wait it out and heal, as much as I can, the human way.” She offered Crowley a tiny smile. “I am allowed medicine and treatment, at least.”

“How kind of them,” Crowley said dryly.

Aziraphale managed a small smile, visibly brave. “Well, you know. At least I didn't discorporate!”

Crowley softened at that. “No, love. At least that.” She sighed softly and rested her hand on Aziraphale's stomach. “Poor little thing. You'll be all better soon.”

Aziraphale's smile wobbled, but she pressed her lips together. “Perhaps. You heard the doctor...”

“Oh.” Why had she thought the other angels might ensure the best outcome? Of course not, that would be too _kind_.

Crowley leaned over and pressed a little kiss to Aziraphale's cheek. “My poor lass. I love you. We'll tackle this together, all right? Promise.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale's smile was real, even as she started to drift off, medicines taking effect. “I know.”

Crowley just stroked her hair and watched her fall asleep, adjusting a pillow here and there to try to ease something. 

Her anger at heaven was an old, old friend now. Most of it was rage on her own behalf, but it had grown to encompass Aziraphale too. Was she a perfect angel? Absolutely not. Did she regularly drive Crowley doolally with her set-in ways and insistence on being at least fifty years behind trends? Yes. 

Was she the love of Crowley's whole existence, kind in the most important ways, and probably the best thing Heaven ever accidentally spat out?

Also yes.

Crowley adjusted one of Aziraphale's arms to lie more comfortably and made sure her battered hand was well-cushioned. She was under a light blanket – mostly, as much as she could be – and it was was warm enough at least that even her thin nightgown was sufficient. Crowley wasn't sure if she'd even be able to wear anything else for some time.

(Well, that was something. You couldn't lace yourself into your ridiculous Natural Form corset if your broken ribs were bandaged and also your hands were unable to grasp a cup, let alone lacing cords. Maybe Crowley would get Aziraphale into a modern dress sometime before 1976!)

Those first few days were quiet, and terrifying. Aziraphale was impossibly still in her bed, asleep most of the time thanks to drugs that kept the pain away. The doctor returned to check her over, made a few adjustments here and there, added another plaster cast to her collection, and promised to return soon, perhaps even to take off a few bandages as cuts and bruises healed.

The bruises turned from black to purple to yellow, and and the pain became manageable, and still Aziraphale was quiet and soft and still. Some of that was enforced; she could get out of bed only if Crowley carried her, which was still a bit painful, so she stayed in her pretty bed. And she wasn't unhappy, exactly – Crowley would notice that. Aziraphale smiled every time Crowley came into her room, usually with some treat or amusement in hand, and it was a real smile, soft and sweet, and she often asked Crowley to come near so Aziraphale could kiss her. And of course Crowley kissed her too, kissed her cheek and her lips and her brow, kissed bruised skin and newly-bared areas, kissed heavy plaster and bandages too. They didn't make love, neither of them interested in such things, but they often cuddled, and they still managed a kind of version of that, careful and gentle with one another. And that always made Aziraphale smile.

So she wasn't... _sad_ . Not exactly. But she wasn't right, either, and it took Crowley too long to figure it out. 

She had been carefully watching Aziraphale; mostly to make sure she was well and loved and cared-for, of course, but also to try and figure out what was rubbing Crowley a little bit the wrong way. It was on one of the endless doctor visits that she put her finger on it – Aziraphale never  _complained_ . She was a champion bitcher, it was one of the things Crowley loved most about her. And somehow worse, she refused to show her pain. It  _hurt_ , it had to hurt, Crowley knew it hurt. Aziraphale had once taken a little spill while drunk and landed hard on one hand and carried on  _loudly_ until Crowley had a chance to heal the (mild) damage. To be broken and battered and bruised, even with medicines to help, she had to be uncomfortable at best. But when the doctor checked her over, had her demonstrate how much she could move – nothing. Even when he moved one of her arms the wrong way and it was horrible, Aziraphale didn't do more than gasp, and suggest politely that he not do that again and also she might need a sling now?

That's what wasn't right. Aziraphale had pains she folded up and put away deep in her soul, but not  _physical_ ones.

“Babydoll, aren't you hurting?” Crowley asked when the doctor was gone and Aziraphale resettled in her bed, and Crowley sprawled beside her.

“Oh, a bit, I suppose,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “Come here and kiss me, sweetheart. You look so handsome today.”

Crowley leaned in for her kiss – she wasn't  _that_ dumb – but didn't let it drop. “Thank you. But angel, you...know you can complain to me, right? If you're hurting?”

Aziraphale moved what had been her bad arm and was now, by process of elimination, her good arm, to rest on Crowley's leg, one fingertip tracing the fine seam of her trousers. “I'm not supposed to.”

“What _bullshit_...” Crowley sighed and rubbed between her eyes, glad she still had dark glasses on. “A condition of the...technique?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly. “I am...I get extra credit for being stoic.”

“You almost died! You might be...be changed for life! You get to bloody cry and complain and feel the whole range of _human_ emotions!” Crowley exploded.

“You don't understand!” Aziraphale told her, voice rising, stronger and louder than Crowley had heard it since she'd been pushed down the stairs. “You don't understand anymore, I can get them to...to respect me! I can beat them at their own game!”

“You can't, angel,” Crowley said, standing up. “They won't ever let you win. Don't you see? Maybe you are actually trialling something for them, _maybe_ this isn't just an excuse to be cruel to you. But you...you shouldn't burn yourself out from the inside. They don't deserve it, love.”

“Oh, bugger _off_ ,” Aziraphale cried out. “I'm trying as hard as I can, and you're not helping!”

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said simply, and left before she started weeping herself, or said something cruel and un-meant, but also un-forgettable. Sometimes it was better for them to cool off apart, and Aziraphale could call for her. Half time if she wanted Crowley, Crowley just _knew_ , anyway.

The day passed with them apart. Crowley went on a spree of little demonic workings and didn't feel better about it. Picking up a bottle of wine and a small cake helped a little, but not really. Best was when evening fell and she finally dragged herself to Aziraphale's room, knocking softly on the door.

“Come in,” came Aziraphale's soft call, and Crowley opened the door a few inches. 

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“I just told you you could,” Aziraphale said.

“Wanted to make sure.” Crowley smiled at her, and got a tentative little smile in return. “How are you?”

Aziraphale bit her lip. “Crowley...”

“Sorry, sorry, sore, uh, subject, don't know what I asked shall I tell you about how I tempted some politicians?” Crowley asked in a hurry.

Aziraphale's face eased into a soft smile. Not the tight one that hid her pain or her fear, a real one. “Maybe in a bit. Will you sit on the bed with me?”

“'course, angel.” Crowley curled up carefully at her side, close but not quite touching. Aziraphale was still laid out on various pillows, but she was sitting up at least, and bright-eyed.

“I feel better today,” Aziraphale said, her voice shaking a little. “But m-my...Crowley, I got hurt really badly.”

“Yeah, love,” Crowley said softly. “You did.”

“I might not get better.”

“Maybe not,” Crowley agreed. “We have to wait and see. But I'll love you no matter what. You know that, right?”

Tears came into Aziraphale's eyes. “Yes,” she choked a little, and started to cry. “Crowley it hurts so bad, I  _hate_ it, everything hurts so badly and I can't do anything or hug you or go out to eat with you and it's not  _fair_ !”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Crowley moved so she could, very carefully, get her arms around Aziraphale's body. “My Zira, my little love, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you're in pain.”

“I'm scared,” Aziraphale said, crying harder. “And I'm so, so sorry. You were right, of course you were right...”

“Shhh, shh, that isn't important,” Crowley told her firmly. “Don't you dare be sad about our fight. I love you so much.”

“It is important,” Aziraphale said, and sniffled. “Oh, _bugger_. Can you, ah...handkerchief?” 

Crowley smiled and pulled out her hankie, wiping Aziraphale's cheeks, even was she still wept. “Blow, miss,” she order, and Aziraphale giggled but also blew her nose. 

“Thank you,” she said, still crying, but smiling a little. “Crowley, how am I going to get through this?”

“Lots of tea and hugs and kisses,” Crowley predicted. “I'll help you up when you're a little better – no reason you can't sit on a couch by a window. We'll figure out how to get you out, too, once you're a little more mobile. And lots of rest and good food and drink, give your body every chance it has to heal.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I hate this. I hate being hurt.”

“I know, baby.” Crowley stroked her cheek, gentle around her black eyes. “I hate that you're hurt too. But you're so cute, even now, and I'm glad I can help take care of you.”

Aziraphale looked down at herself, the swathes of clean white, the little peeks of toes and fingers and rare, unhurt skin here and there. “ _Cute_ ?”

“Cute. As a button.” Crowley tapped her nose. “Don't argue with your wife.”

“I'll argue with whoever I bloody well please, thank you madam,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley cackled out loud. Her angel! There she was, back and herself, crying and laughing and beautiful as could be.

The weeks and months that followed dripped by slowly. Bruises healed and sore muscles did too, and Crowley was able to carry Aziraphale about the house, the two of them bickering at top volume as Aziraphale insisted Crowley was about to walk her into a wall or not clear a doorway, and Crowley insisted that she was  _just fine_ , thank you.

Aziraphale's more serious injuries began to heal too, the torn muscles and damaged nerves and broken bones slowly improving. She could move about in a wheelchair, a little bit, and then on foot with a lot of help, then less help.

She smiled whenever Crowley came to her, and cooed over little treats and presents, and gave out and accepted kisses freely. When she could caress and hold Crowley, she did, and they often snuggled together and watched the sun set, a quiet time sacred to the two of them in Aziraphale's bedroom, now (nearly) her whole world. And she cried from pain and fear and frustration, from how long it was taking her to heal, from hurts that seemed unlikely to ever heal completely. She complained and bitched and was cranky and Crowley loved her more than anything else in the universe.

Eventually, she could move about on her own, still a little hesitant, and not for very far, but something. Something to build on. A year passed, and she heard nothing from the other angels.

“I suppose the experiment is over?” she suggested, as she and Crowley went for a little amble in a public garden, aiming for some shady benches.

“You'd think they'd bloody tell you,” Crowley grumbled, swinging her walking stick. She was dapper and gorgeous and if they had wanted to be seen, every eye would be on her. On them both, really, and not _just_ because of the sling Aziraphale still needed, or her hesitant gait. Her legs had healed all right, but they worried a little about her back and her pelvis. She could walk a little further all the time, though, so they tried not to worry _too_ much. 

“I expect I failed,” Aziraphale said with a shrug. “Well, no matter. Oh, look at the nightingale, love!”

Crowley looked up and grinned, watching the pretty bird, the rush of London in a new century around them. Aziraphale was back in her ridiculous old-fashioned garb (thus the drawing of gazes), but even that wasn't  _so_ bad. Bit of a good sign, and anyway she wouldn't know what to do with herself, without teasing Aziraphale about her wardrobe and her old-fashioned long hair, while her own locks were fashionably shingled.

They settled on the bench, snuggled together, and enjoyed the sunny, sweet day together, quietly grateful for, well – the world.

Epilogue: London, 2018

“Oh, that's cute!”

“Isn't it?” Aziraphale admired the pretty floral fabric, the stretchy cover that so nicely fit over her wrist brace. “Aelis found it for me, I think it's really quite pretty.”

“Very pretty,” Crowley said, grateful it wasn't tartan. She could deal with florals, if she could get a break from tartan. 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale preened a little. “I've ordered a few more, to match some of my dresses. I think that will be quite dashing. I don't _mind_ beige, of course...”

“I noticed,” Crowley said dryly, and winked at her. “You look very cute, mind.”

“You!” Aziraphale laughed. “Right, well. Ready to go?”

“Of course.” Crowley kissed her cheek, and waited for her to get settled so they could go on a proper long ramble, their first in quite some time. Aziraphale _could_ walk long distances, but it was fifty-fifty whether it ended fine, or in days of pain. Much better to not gamble, which had meant finding a way for her to walk without walking. (Driving was right out, until Crowley learned to drive slowly, Aziraphale ruled. So driving was right out.)

The angels had been clear that Aziraphale wasn't going to be able to miraculously heal herself, but no one at any point had said anything about assistive devices, and  _those_ could be miracled up and tried as soon as one or the other of them came across any mention. The wrist brace had given her back some use of her arm and hand, and the (Aziraphale thought) rather snazzy electric wheelchair had, at least in London's wide, well-paved parks, given her back quite a lot of range.

A snap of the fingers, and they were in a lovely, quiet corner of Windsor Great Park. Aziraphale paused to beckon Crowley close for a kiss, and then they set off, making quite the attractive pair, Crowley thought. Aziraphale's fifties dresses had come back into style, even down to her pretty Victory rolls in her hair. Crowley was in head-to-toe designer too-cool-for-you-to-have-heard-of, and felt particularly sleek out with her lady, the two of them a lovely contrast, Aziraphale with legs neatly crossed at the ankle and Crowley's loping gait, dark and light, dapper butch and femme, and very much in love, and bollocks to Heaven or Hell.


	28. Accidents (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the girls from Day 26 met. (And in which we find out that Aziraphale was the true whumpee in that story. Not because she’s blind, but because she’s tied herself to this dorkface for life.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get to the end of this and wonder if, perhaps, it’s the first chapter of a very long story in which I attempt something like a...medium burn? You are absolutely right.
> 
> cw: broken bones, mention of surgery

“Look out below!” Crowley screamed, and whooped loudly, kicking off the skateboard and rattling across the plaza. She wasn't great at skateboarding, but Hastur and Ligur were pretty okay to hang out with. Not, maybe, the most sparkling companions, but pretty okay all the same. Decent for fucking around a deserted plaza and practicing tricks. (Well, the two of them could do tricks pretty well. Crowley mostly just tried to stay on the skateboard.)

They ragged on her as she successfully didn't wipe out on flat ground, so Crowley decided it was time for a little creativity, and also to show the two of them a thing or two. She set up at the top of a sloping bit – wheelchair access she guessed, although whoever designed it didn't know what they were doing, the slope was too steep. And kicked off, rattling over the bricks, holding her line, and then – yes! Up onto the railing and grinding her way down the next set of stairs.

“Fuck yeah, I got this!” she yelled, when someone came out of _nowhere_ , like definitely nowhere, okay maybe there was a big cluster of bushes there but suddenly there was a woman, tall and pale-haired and Crowley yelled because was she _blind_ , Crowley was right there!

She tried to aim out of the way getting off the railing, but it all was going really very fast, so instead of landing and coolly gliding on her way, Crowley landed, felt her leg snap, and skidded in a miserable heap while the skateboard rattled on.

“Ooooh. Oh, fuck.” She groaned and sat up and oh yeah, her ankle was _broken_ broken. “Ow,” she moaned, and lay back down. Well, this was annoying.

“That doesn't sound so good,” the woman said. 

“It really isn't,” Crowley said, lying back down. It didn't hurt less, but it seemed the right thing to do. “Hastur! Ligur!” she called. 

The woman cocked her head. “I think they're coming.”

“Oi, get up,” Ligur called to her.

“I can't, I broke my ankle,” Crowley yelled back.

“Oh, you poor thing!” The woman moved a little closer, and Crowley saw she was wearing dark glasses and was carrying a stick and whoops.

Even though no one had heard her, Crowley felt like an absolute asshole for making the mental crack about if she was blind. She  _was_ visually impaired.

“You're about two feet away from me,” Crowley told her, and smiled when she found Crowley's arm with her cane. “There you go. Shit, I'm really sorry, I'm kind of blocking the path here...”

“I'll be sure to report you to the proper authorities. Did you hit your _head_? Don't apologize!” The woman knelt next to her, hand on Crowley's sleeve. “You poor thing.”

“Aw, I'll be fine.” Crowley sat up and groaned. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow.”

“How's it look?” the woman asked sympathetically. 

“Pretty bad,” Crowley said. “Like, it definitely _looks_ broken.”

“What should we do?” Hastur called down to her, and Crowley put her head in her hands. Her friends were really dumb. This wasn't exactly the first time any of them had wiped out badly. 

“Sweet Jesus,” the woman muttered. 

“Tell me about it,” Crowley mumbled. “Never mind, guys,” she called up. “You grab the boards, I'll call an ambulance.”

“ _I'll_ call an ambulance,” the woman said. “You lie down. I was joking before, but _did_ you hit your head?”

“No,” Crowley said. “I, um, was grinding down the railing and just landed really badly. Ankle took the brunt of it. I'm a little scraped up too, but nothing else hurts.”

“Ooof,” the woman said. “Well, small blessings. Hang on a sec.” She pulled out her phone and Crowley watched with frank curiosity as the woman called 999. Well, got Siri to call 999.

“Thank you,” Crowley said. “I mean it. You're an angel. Um. What's your name?”

The woman laughed. “Oh, right, that. I'm Aziraphale Fell. You are?”

“Antonia Crowley, but just call me Crowley. Pleased to meet you, Aziraphale. Sorry to fuck your night up.”

“You aren't,” Aziraphale said. “I promise.” She slipped her hand into Crowley's. “I'm sorry you got hurt. You sounded like you were having fun.”

Crowley lay back on the pavement, trying to ignore her throbbing ankle and attempt some version of game. “I was. I'm not great on a skateboard, but it was fun to play around. Hastur and Ligur are morons, but they're fun morons.”

Aziraphale laughed sweetly. “I get it. Skateboarding's hard! I tried it a few times, even with someone holding my hand I made it like ten feet.”

Crowley giggled. “You did good! It took me a couple tries to even go in a straight line more than a few feet.” She smiled and squeezed Aziraphale's hand. “We oughta give you another go. Once I can hold your hand.”

“You can hop,” Aziraphale said, and that's how Crowley was laughing her ass off when help finally came.

She insisted that Aziraphale didn't have to come with her, that she'd be fine sorting herself out and that she had friends with more than two braincells who could come pick her up when she was done at A&E. She also insisted on giving Aziraphale her number, and felt her phone buzz in return with a text from Aziraphale's number.

“Please let me know how you get on?” Aziraphale begged, even as Crowley was being wheeled into the ambulance.

“Promise!” she called. “Uh, have a good night?”

Aziraphale laughed, and moved into the light and Crowley finally  _looked_ at her oh no, she was beautiful. She was so beautiful. 

She high-fived herself, mentally, for getting Aziraphale's number  _and_ flirting with a freshly-broken bone, although admittedly not for the first time.

**Crowley** : Surgery for me :(

**Aziraphale:** Oh no! that sucks are you okay? Do you need anything?

**Crowley** : I'm okay. It doesn't hurt very much. (I am very high.) I don't need anything; they sent me home until I can go under the knife. Got my leg in plaster and everything.

 **Aziraphale** : That's not exactly What I meant, but all right. You poor love. It'll be okay I broke my ankle rather badly a few years ago and got pins put in. it's not that bad, and you'll be back on your feet a little faster.

 **Crowley** : Holy shit how did you do that?

 **Aziraphale** : Dreadful story. Before I tell you you have to promise to believe that blind girl does fun things too.

 **Crowley** : I got that, skater chick.

 **Aziraphale** : Hah. I'm really not that interesting, though. I was coming out of a bookshop and missed a step and landed just as wrong as you can land

 **Crowley** : Oh, honey, that's awful. Uh, not to ask the obvious –

 **Aziraphale** : Yes, I know. I can read braille. Bookshop for blind people :)

 **Crowley** : Oh, duh, of course. I'm not actually dumb.

 **Aziraphale** : whatever you say

 **Crowley** : I'm not!

 **Crowley** : Maybe a little.

 **Crowley** : Hey, I'm sorry, I'm really tired. I'll let you know how surgery goes?

 **Aziraphale** : Honey, you don't have to apologize for that! And yes, please? You can text me anytime.

 **Crowley** : thanks for that. You're really nice. And pretty.

 **Aziraphale** : Go to sleep, Crowley.

**Crowley** : I'm sorry if I was out of line, Aziraphale.

 **Aziraphale** : It's all right. You aren't. I didn't want you to regret anything.

 **Crowley** : zero regrets here

**Crowley** : surgery went well. In hospital tonight. Come over for tea soon? Day after tomorrow?

 **Aziraphale** : Oh, thank God. I'm so happy for you dear. And I should like that very much.

 **Crowley** : send you my address. Soon. Sorry. Tired.

 **Aziraphale** : Then rest. You've been through a lot, disaster girl.

 **Crowley** : s'okay. Oh hey. Plz don't call me girl? Sorry, will explain.

 **Aziraphale** : Of course, I do apologize. Disaster Crowley :) rest, okay? Don't worry about anything but get ting better.

 **Crowley** : promise :)

The buzz on Crowley's phone of course made her jump. “Hey honey, buzzing you in now,” she said in lieu of a hello.

“You could at least ask who I am first!” Aziraphale was laughing, and Crowley heard the door open. “All right, I'm in.”

“My door's open, just come in!” Crowley called. She'd already texted her address, and described where the lift was – easy to locate in relation to the door at least. She was way up in the clouds on the tenth floor, or so it felt. Easy to get there from the lift; turn right, third door on the left.

“You are going to be murdered and robbed and murdered again, and you'll deserve all of it,” Aziraphale said when she was in Crowley's flat. “How do I lock your door?”

“Oh my _God_ , you're awful,” Crowley groaned, laughing. “About two inches above the doorknob there's a deadlock – yes, you've got it. Sorry, I'm being rude --”

“If you're getting up right now, I'm going to kick you,” Aziraphale said.

“Good leg or bad one?”

“Both.” She was grinning, and had presumably narrowed in on Crowley's voice, walking right over to her, cane sweeping before her, going around the coffee table.

“You're right next to me,” Crowley said, mouth a little dry. 

“Indeed,” she said, and knelt down to pull Crowley into a hug. “You poor child. You've had a few days.”

“Uh huh.” Crowley hugged her back. “Thank you, by the way. I don't know if I remembered to say that. You helped a lot.”

“I dialed a three-digit number,” Aziraphale said. “Actually, I asked a computer programme to do so.”

“And you were nice to me. It, um. It really hurt. It was better, with you there,” Crowley confessed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Another hug, and Crowley revelled in it. This girl was _sweet_. “How are you? Truly?”

“Uncomfortable, but all right,” Crowley said, sitting up a little straighter. “The surgery went well, but no weight for six weeks at least. Here, want to feel?” As Aziraphale's nod, she took her hand and stretched it, touching the edge of the cast that ran from knee to toes, rough fibreglass. “Uh, do you care about colours?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I can't picture them, but yes.”

“It's black,” Crowley said. “Like my heart.”

“Ah yes, I can tell,” Aziraphale said dryly. Her fingertips glided down the length of Crowley's leg, until her toes, where Aziraphale gave a little squeeze. “Black-hearted demon who's proper hard, that's you.”

“Glad you recognise my true nature,” Crowley said cheerfully. “Also, there's a very comfortable chair just to your left if you want to do something other than flop around on my floor. I can offer you some tea, too?”

“This I want to see,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley laughed, and produced a large flask, pressing it into her hand. “Ta-da.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, of course, you clever gi-- oh, bugger, I'm sorry.”

“S'okay,” Crowley said easily. “I'll explain in a moment.” She reached for a mug and filled it, and passed it off to Aziraphale once she was seated. “There's milk on the coffee table if you like it.”

“Oh, please?” Aziraphale knelt again, clever fingers finding it, and she settled back. “Crowley, this is wonderful. You're really too kind – oh, I brought us a treat!” She reached into her bag and pulled out a bakery box, which proved to be full of lovely, buttery little cookys. 

“They're my favourites,” she admitted, and Crowley smiled at her, dizzy with infatuation. She was plump and beautiful and everything Crowley had remembered from that night in the half-light; pale gold hair and pretty, dark glasses and a bit of an old-fashioned dress sense that somehow worked.

“Thank you, so much,” Crowley said, and nibbled on one, finding it rich and lovely. “Right, so. Uh, sorry, my gender is weird.”

“Gender as an entire construct is weird,” Aziraphale said. “I really am sorry I misgendered you.”

“It's all right. You're not wrong, exactly – I'm AFAB. And I use she/her pronouns, but I'm really...genderqueer, I guess?” Crowley offered. “I'm sorry, it's hard to explain. Uh. I love being high femme, and I find a huge amount of power in it, but I'm also really happy usually presenting as masc-of-centre. I had top surgery a few years ago – actually, oh, hey, _do_ you care what I look like?”

Aziraphale laughed out loud. “I do, actually. I mean, not care-care, there isn't some... _standard_ you have to meet, but I'm curious. You can use colour words and such, but I associate them with feelings or sensations, more than visualising a colour.”

“Oh, that's so cool!” Crowley laughed and blushed. “Oh fuck, am I fetishising you?”

“No, dearest. You're allowed to be curious. What do you look like?”

“Oh, um.” Crowley would never stop smiling. “I'm about as tall as you are, I think. I'm skinny, with red hair I've got in a short undercut. When I grow it out it gets all wavy, though. Uh. Flat-chested like I told you. Not much of a waist or hips. Pale brown eyes, and a really sharp face. I'm wearing a grey t-shirt and cutoff grey sweatpants. I already told you about my cast. I have chipped red polish on my nails, and they're cut short. I have a few piercings in my earlobes, and a tattoo of a snake all up my left arm and the front of my shoulder.”

“Oh, how lovely!” Aziraphale said, and Crowley considered expiring right there.

“It is,” she said, and shyly – “When it gets warm, the ink sometimes gets raised, so you might be able to feel it. In summer.”

“I look forward to it,” Aziraphale said, and oh shit oh shit yep, they were _flirting_. Woohoo!

Also, fuck! They were flirting!

“So, yeah. Sorry, it's really weird. I don't like to be called a girl or a woman,” Crowley explained. “Because I'm not. I am, a little bit, but I'm not.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said gently. “Crowley, you're not that weird. I understand.”

“Oh, good,” Crowley sighed. “I'm sorry, I'm also making assumptions. Pronouns for you?”

“She and her,” Aziraphale said. “I'm a cis woman, but not terribly fussed about it. I expect someday I'll be comfortable describing myself as agender, but I'm not quite there yet.”

“I get it,” Crowley said softly, and smiled at her. “What do you do?”

“I'm an historian, actually.” Aziraphale's smile grew. “And you've been very good and not asked me the usual stuff, so you get that too. I was born blind, and I'm completely blind – I can't see anything, ever. I am told my eyes look strange, so consider this a heads-up. I live alone and completely independently, and please let me ask you for help if I need it.”  
“Aziraphale, of the two of us, who strikes you as the one most likely to be described as an utter disaster in need of constant assistance?” Crowley asked, dizzy with adoration.

“Point, but I do like to lay that out early.” She grinned, and sipped her tea. “Okay, who do you know who's blind?”

Crowley laughed. “How did you guess?”

“You give good directions, and you're not weird. Spill, child.”

Crowley grinned. “You're going to laugh. To actually answer your question, one of my colleagues is, uh, I guess 80% blind? They can see some things, in a very small part of their field of vision. More generally, I work for a company that does consultations around making buildings accessible. Well, any space really, but we've tended to fall into new builds. Basically I have the best job ever, I make architects cry.”

Aziraphale laughed and clapped her hands. “You darling! That honestly sounds fascinating.”

“It is,” Crowley said. “I love being a thorn in the side and sending projects over-budget. And it's so fucking stupid – why would you build something that only part of the population can use easily? Anyway, yeah. Uh, sorry if I'm using words you don't like, but I'm really comfortable with disability?”

“No, that's fine,” Aziraphale said. “I have...a lot of feelings about being blind. But disability is one word you can apply to it, although for the record I consider myself situationally disabled. I do great, in the right environment.”

“Exactly,” Crowley said, and smiled at her. “I had the best timing for an accident in the world, you know.”

Aziraphale giggled. “You'd have got yourself up eventually. I am really glad I got to meet you, though. Really truly, you're going to be all right?”

“Really truly,” Crowley promised. “This isn't my first broken bone, or even my first time on crutches. I'll be fine in a few weeks, I promise. I've got friends who can drop in and do grocery runs or whatever, and needless to say my office is, uh, very adaptation-friendly. I can work from here once I'm up to it.”

Aziraphale giggled again. “I'd hope so!” She smiled and settled back in her chair. “My black-hearted Crowley.”

Crowley smiled and felt shivery all over. Oh, they were definitely flirting. “So how did you get into history, honey?”

“Well, I always loved it...” Aziraphale chattered happily about her studies, and Crowley almost fell off the sofa when she airily talked about getting her doctorate at Oxford oh my _god_ she was _so out of her league_ this was insane. The smartest, prettiest, funniest, nicest girl in the world was sat on Crowley's armchair, chattering away happily like she wanted nothing more than to be right here, talking to a ding-dong with a broken ankle. 

They talked about Aziraphale's work, the book she was writing on the history of the printed word (“I know, the jokes write themselves. But it's so fascinating!”), how she lived in Soho and wasn't it lucky that Crowley was just a little way's away in Mayfair.

Crowley was a little quieter, just listening and taking in this amazing woman. Aziraphale was  _so smart_ , and funny and dry and...possibly she fancied Crowley too? Maybe? Her physical tells were different from what Crowley was used to, but she was warm and called Crowley 'honey' and insisted on making another round of tea.

Crowley actually did get up for that, hauling herself up and into her kitchen, where she talked Aziraphale through where the kettle was, and the tea, and soon they were settled back in the living room with fresh mugs – and a few changes. Like how Crowley was sat up, leg propped up on the coffee table this time, and how Aziraphale was right next to her, a deliciously warm presence.

“Forgive my asking, but how did you get into your line of work?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley was extremely, extremely aware that their shoulders were brushing together.

“No, it's fair – I'm not disabled. Er, well, I am at the _moment_ , but you get the idea.” Crowley giggled softly, inviting Aziraphale in on the joke. “I studied architecture a little, and law a little, and liked them both but not enough to go all the way. So I fell into it a bit. I like what I do – I'm literally paid to destroy visions, it's great.”

Aziraphale snickered. “Your honesty is refreshing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Crowley shrugged. “The way we've designed the world is so dumb, and that makes me angry. It's so easy to make things accessible! For everyone! I, personally, am really excited about the fact that there are lifts in Tube stations for the next six weeks, and curb cuts are going to be pretty sweet too.”

“Curb cuts are the gift that gives to everyone,” Aziraphale agreed. “Easy to tell where to cross.”

Crowley smiled. “Exactly! It's like...look, everyone is going to be disabled at some point in their lives, or so close to everyone that it doesn't matter. But also...even if that  _weren't_ the case, we should still design for everyone.” She sighed. “It's bloody frustrating. And temporary disability is so different from permanent...look, when I started work, I went to this class. Six week crash course on design for disability, really. It was...I think they meant well. We were supposed to experience dealing with disability in the built environment ourselves.”

“Tell me _absolutely everything_ about the week you had to do blindness,” Aziraphale begged. “I can only imagine the shit show.”

“Okay, first, the cane thing is _hard_ ,” Crowley complained, and Aziraphale started laughing. She wiggled when she was joyful. Crowley was going to throw herself out a window. “It is! We got a lecture, then someone blindfolded me and handed me a cane and I had to not die.”

“Oh my God, that's actually cruel,” Aziraphale said, still laughing weakly.

“There was a man who used a cane there to talk us through it. He could see a little, and he laughed at me,” Crowley said glumly.

“Poor dear,” Aziraphale said.

“I was pretty bad.”

“I know, I meant him,” she giggled. “Oh, Crowley. Anything else?”

Crowley smiled and nudged her. “Oi, some friend you are. Um. I can't read Braille but I've tried, and it was really interesting. It was cool holding onto someone and walking around the city. Listening to everything – traffic and people, and all that. I actually did okay with that, and I know how to hold my arm and stuff if you ever need me to guide you or whatever.”

“Oh, that's good to know,” Aziraphale said. “What'd you think of it all?”

“Good for teaching compassion, and the reasons behind laws.” Crowley said. “Awful for...look, you can't really take disability out for a spin, you know? I don't know _anything_ about what your day-to-day life is like because I spent three hours walking around an office block with a cane. I had to spend a day in a wheelchair too, among other stuff and it's not the _same_. It's good for understanding the practicalities, but I always came home and desperately needed a shower, y'know?”

“I get it,” Aziraphale said gently. “You can always open your eyes, or get up and walk. And I've had my whole life to learn. Things are instinct for me that never would be for you. You'll always struggle more in my world than I will in yours.”

“Exactly,” Crowley said, and smiled when Aziraphale got a little closer. “So yeah. I understand intimately why slopes for wheelchair access are what they are – and not just my little spin 'round, I was in a car accident a couple years ago and had to use a wheelchair for a few months – but I'm acutely aware that that's not the same as living it.”

“Good God, you poor thing!” Aziraphale reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You are the original Disaster Gay, aren't you?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Crowley said, cackling. “You think you're the first pretty lady I've tried to pick up while waiting for medical help?”  
Aziraphale groaned. “I don't want to know. I mean, I do, but not until I can have a drink in my hand.”

Crowley laughed out loud. “Next date? There's a lovely pub just down the street, and I'm actually not bad on crutches.”

“Oh, is this a date?” Aziraphale asked, smiling.

“I'd like it to be,” Crowley said frankly. “But it doesn't have to be. I'm really happy having my new friend Aziraphale over too.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “I think...I'm sorry. You're wonderful, Crowley. But I take a little while to...open up, I guess. Can it be two friends having drinks, and maybe be a date another time?”

“Honey, of course,” Crowley said softly. “It can never be a date, and I'll be so happy to have met you. I like you, Aziraphale.”

“I like you too,” she said, and laughed, and squeezed Crowley's hand. “Thank you for understanding. My history is...complicated. In addition to being demisexual. But I'm so glad you wiped out six inches from me.” A pause. “The six inches being the important bit. Thank you for not taking me out.”

Crowley giggled and squeezed back. “My pleasure, angel.”

They talked a little more, nothing of any importance, before Aziraphale had to go to get dinner with a friend. Crowley assembled some manners and walked her to the door, and even managed a kind of carefully-balanced, one-armed hug.

“Best accident ever,” she said, squeezing Aziraphale tightly.

“Disaster gay,” Aziraphale accused her, and hugged back. “Text or call me if you need me. Or just to say hi.”

Crowley smiled. “I will. Enjoy dinner, honey. You okay getting out?”

“Fine,” she promised, and, light as a moth's wing, she kissed Crowley's cheek before leaving. “And lock up behind me before you get murdered!”

Crowley laughed, and did so, pleased as could be. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.


	29. Reluctant Bedrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pregnant Aziraphale is on bed-rest, and pretty unhappy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: difficult pregnancy

“Hi, love,” Crowley said softly, lying down on the bed and snuggling up to Aziraphale, kissing her shoulder. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” Aziraphale admitted, and sighed. “I'm sorry I lost it at you.”

“It's all right,”Crowley said, wriggling so Aziraphale could get her arm around Crowley's shoulders and pull her into a proper hug. “You're feeling rough.”

“I am. But I have no right to take it out on you,” Aziraphale said, and turned her head to kiss Crowley softly. “And I'm sorry.”

“Forgiven,” Crowley said, and rested her hand on Aziraphale's belly. Eight months in and Crowley still wasn't sure they weren't having twins, she was carrying that big. “Poor love. Is Baby being nice to you at least?”

“Baby is not,” Aziraphale reported with a groan. “Baby is extremely excited for her women's football tryouts.”

Crowley laughed softly and rubbed her wife's vast belly. “Oi, you. Your mum's already on bed rest because of you. The least you could do is take a little nap.”

Aziraphale smiled and rubbed her stomach, then interlaced her fingers with Crowley's.

There was a mighty kick, and they _had_ to laugh together, and Crowley kissed her, and kissed her again. 

“She gets it from you,” Aziraphale said.

“Right,” Crowley said. “You never rebelled in your life.” A little nuzzle to Aziraphale's soft cheek. “Do you need anything, angel? Cup of tea?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “I'm fine, I promise. You've got me spoiled rotten.”

“The hell I do.” Crowley hugged her. It had been scary, when Aziraphale fell ill just two weeks ago. When everything seemed to go wrong. But Baby (they were still figuring out names) was strong and well, and Aziraphale was strong, if not well, and had been put on bed rest. Which hadn't gone over a treat, but soon, _soon_. 

The pregnancy had been awful from the start. Morning sickness that lasted all day and night, swollen ankles, gestational diabetes, just about every uncomfortable aspect of pregnancy there was, Aziraphale had experienced it. Crowley did her best to help, but there was only so much she could do after a point, and was reduced to taking on every chore Aziraphale would let her, and otherwise providing back rubs and foot rubs and help in the bath on request. If her lady love was going to put her body on the line for them to have a child together, Crowley could put all her own labour and love and energy in.

“I do feel better,” Aziraphale said softly. “Like this.”

“Maybe the bed rest is really helping?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Maybe. But I like...this. Being quiet with you. We're not quite a family of two, but we're not quite a family of three yet. I like it when you hold me and kiss me and love me, and I like it when you touch my belly, and talk to Baby. It's...peaceful.” She smiled. “We won't have this much peace again for a good long time.”

“Or ever,” Crowley agreed, and turned Aziraphale's head to kiss her more deeply. “I love you so much. You're giving us the most beautiful gift that you can. I'll be glad to meet Baby for real, and gladder when your body can rest and recover.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. They'd had plans for a home birth, all peaceful and nice, maybe in a pool? They'd even bought a little plastic pool, before the midwife told them it was too high-risk. She'd be in hospital, just in case. Just in case something went pear-shaped, it was safest to have her close to help. 

But she would have Crowley with her, and they'd meet Baby, and honestly she was looking forward to the assistance of a variety of drugs at this point. It had been a hard, frightening pregnancy, but it was almost over.

Just a few more weeks of lying in bed useless and feeling ill and getting kicked and her belly somehow getting even  _bigger_ .

Aziraphale squeezed her eyes closed and rolled onto her side, into Crowley's arms, because her wife was always, always there to hold her and love her while she wept. She'd done it when Aziraphale had run away from home, finally cut ties with her horrible family, and she'd done it their wedding night when Aziraphale couldn't stop crying from joy. (Crowley had been crying just as hard, and they held each other and laughed and sobbed because they were loved now.) And now she was doing it when Aziraphale's whole body felt wrong and ugly and hurting, and when she had to stay in bed and couldn't help, couldn't do anything but  _be pregnant_ , and she hated it.

“I'm sorry,” she managed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Oh, angel. You have nothing to be sorry about,” Crowley comforted her. “You're _making life_. You gorgeous creature, I love you. I'm in awe of you.” She rocked Aziraphale gently, and rubbed her belly. “Poor lady. It's almost over, Aziraphale. It's really almost over, and you're _so strong_.”

Aziraphale sniffled and laughed and buried her face in Crowley's chest. “I wish I could at least sit there while you put the crib together. Be  _some_ kind of useful.”

“You're useful by being my beloved, and taking care of yourself,” Crowley reminded her. “You're _precious_ and necessary and loved. Don't have to be useful at all, to be loved and important.” She smiled and rubbed Aziraphale's back. “Or are you a capitalist now?”

This got her a wet giggle, and a wife curled even tighter in her arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too. You got this, angel. I promise. _We_ got this,” Crowley reminded her, kissing the top of her head. Just a few more weeks. Even if Baby came early, she wouldn't be _that_ premature. They were okay. They were going to make it.

Epilogue:

“Oh, all right, I know. Your mummy's probably awake from her nap anyway,” Crowley told her daughter(!!), picking Eve up out of her crib. “There we go, no need to cry, I hear you,” she cooed, cuddling the little mite to her and carrying her down the hall. “Angel?”

“I'm up.” Aziraphale was, too. Still lying down, but awake, and looking softer and easier. Every day she got a little better, after the awful birth. But she and Eve had both pulled through, and Crowley was never letting either of them out of arm's reach forever. Might be a bit rough when Eve went off to Uni, but they'd adjust.

“Someone inherited your appetite,” Crowley teased, as Aziraphale sat up and undid her shirt.

“She will grow up to be a foodie,” Aziraphale said proudly, taking Eve and helping her latch on. “Oh, yes, you are a hungry little nugget, aren't you? What a good girl. Yes, it's lovely milk, isn't it?” She smiled and touched Eve's cheek, cradling her close, and didn't look up until Crowley sat beside her. “Oi, you. Hold us, please? I want you to be a part of this.”

Didn't have to ask Crowley twice. Watching Aziraphale nurse was still new enough that she got all kinds of emotions from it, including that she didn't want to intrude on the moment. But of course, she was a mum too now, and that meant it was her moment too. (Although – and she was intensely grateful for this – not her chapped nipples.)

She cuddled Aziraphale, and thus by transitive property cuddled Eve, and rested her chin on Aziraphale's shoulder, after laying a little kiss there. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” Aziraphale assured her. “Want to go sit in the garden a bit after she's done?” She laughed. “Listen to me, a thrill a minute here.”

Crowley laughed and kissed her. “I would love nothing better. Supper's in the crockpot, so I'm all yours, beloved.”

“Beloved, that's new,” Aziraphale teased, and turned her head to kiss her wife softly. “You are, and I am not exaggerating here, the best wife in the history of wives.”

“Best of wives and best of women,” Crowley sang softly. “S'you, angel. I'm just along for the ride.”

“Tch.” Aziraphale smiled at her. “But you are. And I want you to know it. I love you.”

“You survived, and so did this little mite,” Crowley said simply. “How could I not be the best wife and mother, with that as an example?” She touched Aziraphale's cheek, and kissed her again, then let her hand drift down to pet Eve's arm as she continued to eat like it was going out of style. Gobble away, little love. Your mummy and I would give you the whole world if you asked. We're going to make everything beautiful for you. Eat and get big and strong, and learn to read and write and learn to climb a tree and run into our arms. We both had to learn what unconditional love was; we weren't born into it. You are. Eat and be loved and be your perfect little self; your mums have got you, and we think you're the best thing the world ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're done! Thank you for reading along on this long...long...journey!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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